There she studied, as it was termed; in other words, she went under professors of singing, dancing and dramatic action, who completely altered her style in a few months, so that she was soon able to make her debut at the Orphoean, where, to use the theatrical term, she immediately "caught on," and became a popular star, thoroughly proving that the P.F. was right as to there being money in her. In fact, "all London," of a class, flocked to see her and hear her, and she made so much money for the place of entertainment that its proprietary determined to rebuild, add, and decorate as richly as possible while "La Sylphide," as she was called in the bills, was "resting"; in other words, playing the little hostess of the Tilborough Arms, attracting customers and bringing more money into her father's till. People of all degrees were attracted like moths to flutter round the brilliant little star. All made love, and the most unlikely of all who seized the opportunity of being served by the clever little maiden was believed in and won. On that busy special day, when the town was crowded and the Tilborough Arms was at its busiest, Sam Simpkins, a heavy, red-faced, bullet-headed, burly, rather brutal-looking personage, a cross between a butcher and prize-fighter, with a rustic, shrewd, farmer-like look thrown in, sat in one of the seats in his fox head, brush, and sporting-print adorned hall, cross-legged so as to make a desk of his right knee, upon which he held a big betting-book, wherein, after a good deal of chewing of the end of a lead-pencil, he kept on making entries, giving some order between the efforts of writing by shouting into the bar-parlour, the kitchen, or through a speaking-tube connected with extensive stables. It was an attractive-looking, old-fashioned place, that great hall, with its flight of stairs leading up into a gallery showing many chamber-doors, its glazed-in bar-parlour, and its open windows looking out on to the common and racecourse, quite alive on that bright summer's morning with all the tag-rag and bob-tail of a race day, as well as with the many lovers of the race from town and country who had come to enjoy the sport. "Here, 'Lizbeth," shouted the landlord, reaching back so as to send his hoarse voice well into the bar-parlour, "ain't yer young missus come back yet?" "Yes, sir, and gone up to dress," came back. "Humph! Time she had," growled the man, wetting the lead of his pencil. "I dunno what she wanted to go out biking for on a morning like this. I'd ha' biked her, if I'd seen her going." There was an interval of writing. Then more grumbling-- "Might have attended to the business a bit as she is at home, and me up to my eyes in work. Humph! That's right." Another entry was made. "Blest if I can recklect so well as I used. Blow bikes! Why, they'll be wanting to run races with 'em next, and--Mornin', doctor; ain't seen yer for months."