Maggy saw that De Freyne took it for granted that Alexandra had a man behind her. She also knew that it would not be to her advantage to correct the assumption. She even deemed it wise to stimulate his imagination. It was easy to do that with a mysterious smile and a knowing shake of the head. "It’s a bit of a State secret," she said with just the right amount of hesitation. "I oughtn’t to say anything about it. I—I’ve never seen his Roy—him, I mean." De Freyne pricked up his ears. "But you know who he is? Some foreigner, I suppose?" "Oh, there wouldn’t be any need for secrecy about a foreigner," protested Maggy with wicked plausibility. He put a few more questions but she refused to be drawn. De Freyne was anything but gullible, but Maggy’s artfulness quite took him in. Her hesitation alone was convincing proof that she knew more than she would tell. She gleefully retailed the conversation to Woolf later in the day. "Mischievous little devil!" he grinned, amused by her audacity. "What does your precious Lexie say?" "She doesn’t say anything because I shan’t tell her. She’d probably go straight to De Freyne and blab out the truth, which wouldn’t do her any good. He’ll think more of her now. At any rate he won’t bother her with men." Woolf grunted. He could never understand why Maggy was always suggesting that though a thing might be adequate to herself it was not of necessity good enough for her friend. Maggy was not far wrong about De Freyne’s subsequent attitude toward Alexandra. Nothing was said, but all the same she began to receive more consideration. De Freyne kept an open eye on the stalls and boxes for any distinguished personage who might be there on her account. On two nights in succession one such happened to be among the audience. This lent color to Maggy’s powers of invention. Alexandra was at once promoted to the front row. When, a week later, a young American Croesus made advances to De Freyne for an introduction to the "tall, dark girl on the extreme right," he was put off with airy nonchalance. "Not the least use, my dear sir," said De Freyne. "Between you and me, a certain royal personage is in the way there. But have a look at the filly next to her, to-night. She’s only sixteen." De Freyne would not have felt flattered had he been told that his methods differed little from those of the astute tradesman who, not having a particular article in stock, never hesitates to try and palm off the nearest equivalent on his customer. Meanwhile he was debating whether it would not be wise to interpolate a small part for Alexandra. The upshot was that he sent for her and heard her sing. The quality of her voice surprised him. "Damn it, you know how!" he observed. "Why didn’t you tell us you could sing?" "I sang at the voice trial," she said.