She threw open the door for Alexandra to enter. It was the sort of room that many a domestic servant would have considered inadequate. The only compensating feature about it on this hot June day was that it had two windows. Both stood open, and on the sill of each a pot of flowers, mignonette in the one, sweet peas in the other, helped to create an impression of freshness. This was strengthened by the paucity of its furniture and the chilly look which an unrelieved expanse of linoleum invariably gives. A single iron bedstead occupied one angle. A clean but faded nightdress case, trimmed with crochet work, lay on the pillow. This and the flowers in the windows were the only things that gave evidence of the room being occupied by a young girl. Maggy made a comprehensive gesture with her hand. "The chorus lady at home!" she declaimed humorously. "Living in the lap of luxury. There’s her voluptuous couch, her Louis the what’s-his-name chest of drawers, her exquisite bric-à-bric washstand and—My dear, be careful of the chair! It’s a real antique, only three legs and a swinger! Sit on the bed, it’s safer. Pretty little place, isn’t it? We’ll have lunch in a minute or two. Can you eat hot New Zealand mutton? I told the old woman I’d have a cut off her joint to-day. I’ll just shout down to let her know there’s two of us." After her voice had echoed down the three flights and been duly answered, she came back and poured out water for her new friend to wash her hands in. Common yellow soap was all she could offer for this purpose. She was only able to afford the fancy variety and cheap perfumes when she was in an engagement. She took off her hat while Alexandra dried her hands and then, as they sat side by side on the bed, she suddenly blurted out: "What the dickens makes you want to go in for the stage? Don’t tell me if you’d rather not." "There’s no reason why I shouldn’t," said Alexandra. "I’ve longed to ever since I was quite small." "Goodness! And I’ve wanted to get off it ever since I can remember. Not that I ever had the chance. I don’t know how to do anything useful. I suppose you got cracked about the stage, same as most girls, because you didn’t know anything about it. You belong to a swell family, I suppose?" "No," was the smiling reply; "only Anglo-Indians." "What are they? Half-castes? You’re fooling!" "English people who live or have lived in India. My father was in the army." "What, an officer?" "Yes." Maggy was impressed. She had once met a Sergeant-Major, and, superior being as she thought him, knew that his glory was reflected from the commissioned ranks. "That’s something to be proud of, anyway." Alexandra’s people had been in the Army and Civil Service for generations. It had not occurred to her to think of them unduly on this account. She said as much.