When Drouet was gone, she sat down in her rocking-chair by the window to think about it. As usual, imagination exaggerated the possibilities for her. It was as if he had put fifty cents in her hand and she had exercised the thoughts of a thousand dollars. She saw herself in a score of pathetic situations in which she assumed a tremulous voice and suffering manner. Her mind delighted itself with scenes of luxury and refinement, situations in which she was the cynosure of all eyes, the arbiter of all fates. As she rocked to and fro she felt the tensity of woe in abandonment, the magnificence of wrath after deception, the languour of sorrow after defeat. Thoughts of all the charming women she had seen in plays—every fancy, every illusion which she had concerning the stage—now came back as a returning tide after the ebb. She built up feelings and a determination which the occasion did not warrant. Drouet dropped in at the lodge when he went down town, and swashed around with a great _air_, as Quincel met him. “Where is that young lady you were going to get for us?” asked the latter. “I’ve got her,” said Drouet. “Have you?” said Quincel, rather surprised by his promptness; “that’s good. What’s her address?” and he pulled out his notebook in order to be able to send her part to her. “You want to send her her part?” asked the drummer. “Yes.” “Well, I’ll take it. I’m going right by her house in the morning. “What did you say her address was? We only want it in case we have any information to send her.” “Twenty-nine Ogden Place.” “And her name?” “Carrie Madenda,” said the drummer, firing at random. The lodge members knew him to be single. “That sounds like somebody that can act, doesn’t it?” said Quincel. “Yes, it does.” He took the part home to Carrie and handed it to her with the manner of one who does a favour. “He says that’s the best part. Do you think you can do it?” “I don’t know until I look it over. You know I’m afraid, now that I’ve said I would.” “Oh, go on. What have you got to be afraid of? It’s a cheap company. The rest of them aren’t as good as you are.” “Well, I’ll see,” said Carrie, pleased to have the part, for all her misgivings. He sidled around, dressing and fidgeting before he arranged to make his next remark. “They were getting ready to print the programmes,” he said, “and I gave them the name of Carrie Madenda. Was that all right?” “Yes, I guess so,” said his companion, looking up at him. She was thinking it was slightly strange. “If you didn’t make a hit, you know,” he went on. “Oh, yes,” she answered, rather pleased now with his caution. It was clever for Drouet. “I didn’t want to introduce you as my wife, because you’d feel worse then if you didn’t _go_. They all know me so well. But you’ll _go_ all right. Anyhow, you’ll probably never meet any of them again.” “Oh, I don’t care,” said Carrie desperately. She was determined now to have a try at the fascinating game.