It was over at last, the long performance with its glitter, glare and gaiety. There was nothing in it, but all London would flock to see it because the music was catchy and the girls so pretty and the whole show so symbolical of the light side of life. For several days afterwards rehearsals were frequent. The usual "cuts" and alterations had to be made, the show licked into shape. On one of these occasions Maggy received a message from De Freyne. He wanted to see her. Leaving Alexandra in the dressing room she went up to the managerial office. It was nearly one o’clock. "I’m glad you took my advice," he said in a friendly tone. "You’ve been turning yourself out much better." "Thanks," Maggy answered. "Is that all?" "No. I’m going to put you in the way of dressing really well. A very decent chap wants to know you. You’ll be lucky if he likes you." "That’s your opinion. Well, he can like me as much as he likes. But I’m straight." De Freyne chewed the end of his mustache. "You get these silly notions from the girl you live with," he said impatiently. "I’ll mix advice with a bit of prophecy. If you don’t try and make yourselves more agreeable you’ll find you’re in—" "Queer Street?" "It’s equivalent—Garrick Street and Maiden Lane—out of a shop. It doesn’t hurt you to be nice to a fellow, does it? He may ask you to lunch. Duchesses lunch." "I’m not a duchess, and I’m particular who I lunch with." At the end of her sentence the door opened and a man looked in. He had heard her, and was amused. Maggy’s look as she turned to acknowledge De Freyne’s introduction was inimical. She knew perfectly well what that introduction portended. She must be hard. She had repulsed other men. She could take care of herself. But this man—what was his name—Woolf?—loomed tall and big over her, big as Fate, possessive. He exercised a spell: he appealed to her. She knew it in the first moment that she looked at him. She knew she would like to lunch with him, and that she would inwardly be disappointed if she had the strength of mind to refuse. When the invitation came she accepted it with cheeky reservation. "All right, Mr. Woolf, so long as you don’t think I’m Little Red Riding-hood and included in the menu." The capitulation satisfied her conscience. Then she remembered Alexandra. "I must go and tell my friend not to wait for me," she said. "Miss Hersey?" supplied De Freyne. "You might also ask her to come in here in ten minutes, will you?" "My car’s outside," said Woolf. "You’ll find me at the stage-door." Maggy ran along to the dressing room where she had left Alexandra. The other girls had gone. "Lexie, I’m going out to lunch," she began breathlessly. "I wish you were coming too. Do you mind? I shan’t be long. I’ll cut home as quickly as I can."