"I'm so glad. Well, may I call you Alice? I will tell you what theatres to go to. Oh, I shall make myself very useful to you!" She clasped her hands, laughing--a picture of youth and truth and innocence. "Some time or other you shall see _me_ on the stage." "We get lots of actors out in the West--and actresses too. Some of them are real lovely," said John Haveril. She laughed. "Oh! There are actresses and actresses. And some elevate their Art, and some degrade it. Now, let me see. Oh, father is dead, poor dear! I told you. And the rest of the family---- Well, you saw for yourself, cousin, they are not exactly the kind of people for a person of your consideration. You should lend them all some money--not much--and make them promise to pay it back on a certain day--next Monday week, at ten o'clock. It's a certain plan. Then you'll have no further trouble with them. Otherwise, they'll crowd round you like leeches." "I can't let my own flesh and blood starve." "Starve! Rubbish! They won't starve! What have they been doing while you've been away? Unless you encourage them not to work." And now she sank gracefully upon a footstool, and took her cousin's hands. "Oh," she said, "it is so nice to have a relative of whom one may be proud, after all those cousins. Oh, it must be a dreadful thing to have such lots of money! Why, I've got nothing!" "You've had no champagne," said Cousin John, lifting his Jeroboam. "Thank you, Cousin John, I don't drink champagne. Well, now, what can I do for you this afternoon?" "I don't know, my dear. We neither of us know much about London, and we just wander about, for the most part, or drive about, and wonder where we are." The girl jumped up. "Order a carriage and pair instantly. I shall drive you round and show you the best shops. You are sure to want something. As for me, remember that I want nothing. An actress appears in costume which the management finds. You, however, Alice, are different. You must dress as becomes your position." * * * * * "My dear child," said Alice, in the very first shop, "you _must_ let me give you a dress--you really must." "I don't want it, I assure you," she laughed. "But if it pains you not to give me one, why, I will take it." She _did_ take it. That evening there arrived at the boarding-house, addressed to Miss Pennefather, first a bonnet, for which five guineas would be cheap; a dress, the price of which the male observer could not even guess; a box of kid gloves, a mantle, and two or three pairs of boots. "And, oh," said the girl, when she left the hotel that night, "what a _lovely_ thing it is to feel that there will be no horrid mercenary considerations between us! You will admire my Art, but I shall not envy your money. Cousin John, admit that I am better off than you--one would rather be admired than envied."