The Actor gave a short laugh which deceived no one. “I suppose I was an ass,” he went on, “but I’d do it again to-day. ‘It was wonderful,’ I said, ‘quite wonderful.’ And because I’m an actor they believed me. Not that he, at any rate, required much convincing—he only wanted his knowledge confirmed. Of course, when I spoke I didn’t realise what I was letting myself in for. I should have done, I suppose, but—I wasn’t left long in doubt. If she was wonderful—and had not I, Herbert Trayne, said so—what about a job? At once . . . With my backing it was easy. . . . Which was all quite true except for the one vital fact of my having lied. But, hang it, you fellows!” he exploded, “could you have told ’em it was the most appalling exhibition of utter futility you’d ever witnessed?” “No, I couldn’t,” said the Soldier. “What happened? “I can see them now,” continued the Actor. “He was holding her hand, and looking up into her face—as a dog looks at the being it adores. And she was smiling a little, and crying a little—tears of pure joy. The strain was over, the lunches had not been missed in vain. And I stood there like a dumb idiot racking my brains for something to say. They thought I was wondering what job to offer her; they were right, I was.” The Actor laughed shortly. “But I’d gone into the morass, and there was nothing for it but to blunder in deeper. The one vital essential was that in no circumstances must the poor child ever be allowed to act. The other was money—and at once. So I offered her then and there a job as Molly Travers’ understudy at five pounds a week.” “Great Scott!” The Doctor sat up with a jerk. “Understudy Molly?” “I explained, of course,” went on the Actor, “that there was an understudy already, and that to save unpleasantness it would be better if she didn’t come to the theatre, unless I sent for her. That, of course, it was more than likely that Miss Travers wouldn’t be ill during the run of the play, and that in those circumstances I didn’t want to offend the present understudy. And when another play came along, we must see what we could do. That, thank Heaven, I knew was some way off yet! It gave me breathing space. “I gave her a week’s salary in advance, and I got away—somehow. I think they were both a little dazed with the wonder of it, and they wanted to be alone. I heard his voice—weak and quavering—as I shut the door. “‘Oh! my very dear girl,’ he was whispering—and she was on her knees beside the bed. And I blundered my way downstairs, cursing myself for a sentimental fool. There’s whisky on the table, you fellows. Help yourselves.” But no one moved, and the Actor lit another cigarette.