"You'd lose your money, Mrs. Morgan," she said, "rich young gentlemen only marry poor working girls in the kind of stories I illustrate. If I marry it will probably be a very poor young gentleman who will become an incurable invalid and want nursing. And I shall hate him so much that I can't be happy with him, and pity him so much that I can't run away from him." Mrs. Morgan sniffed her disagreement. "There are things that happen----" she began. "Not to me--not miracles, anyway," said Lydia, still smiling, "and I don't know that I want to get married. I've got to pay all these bills first, and by the time they are settled I'll be a grey-haired old lady in a mob cap." Lydia had finished her tea and was standing somewhat scantily attired in the middle of her bedroom, preparing for her theatre engagement, when Mrs. Morgan returned. "I forgot to tell you, miss," she said, "there was a gentleman and a lady called." "A gentleman and a lady? Who were they?" "I don't know, Miss Beale. I was lying down at the time, and the girl answered the door. I gave her strict orders to say that you were out." "Did they leave any name?" "No, miss. They just asked if Miss Beale lived here, and could they see her." "H'm!" said Lydia with a frown. "I wonder what we owe them!" She dismissed the matter from her mind, and thought no more of it until she stopped on her way to the theatre to learn from the office by telephone the number of drawings required. The chief sub-editor answered her. "And, by the way," he added, "there was an inquiry for you at the office to-day--I found a note of it on my desk when I came in to-night. Some old friends of yours who want to see you. Brand told them you were going to do a show at the Erving Theatre to-night, so you'll probably see them." "Who are they?" she asked, puzzled. She had few friends, old or new. "I haven't the foggiest idea," was the reply. At the theatre she saw nobody she knew, though she looked round interestedly, nor was she approached in any of the _entr'actes_. In the row ahead of her, and a little to her right, were two people who regarded her curiously as she entered. The man was about fifty, very dark and bald--the skin of his head was almost copper-coloured, though he was obviously a European, for the eyes which beamed benevolently upon her through powerful spectacles were blue, but so light a blue that by contrast with the mahogany skin of his clean-shaven face, they seemed almost white.