It is obvious that people who live in a basement must look at life from a different point of view from all others. The proudest of women in that position must necessarily see it _de bas en haut_. The woman looking out of the drawing-room or higher for the person she is expecting to see gets more or less of a bird's-eye view. She sees the top of a hat first, and the person necessarily foreshortened. From the dining-room or ground-floor window she sees the approaching visitor through glass, but practically on a level, almost face to face, and therefore is incapable of judging him on the whole or of taking a very large view, since any object placed close to the eye deprives one of a sense of proportion--shuts out everything else. But from a basement window things are very different. It is wonderful how much character one learns to see in feet, and it is still more curious how, to the accustomed eye, their expression can vary from time to time. Flora saw at a glance by the obstinate stamp, the bad-tempered look of his boots, by the nervous impatience of his stride, that Mr. Rathbone was coming to see her in a state of agitation. One would hardly have believed that, without having seen his face at all, she would be so prepared for his behaviour when he arrived as to greet him anxiously from the door, even before he came in, with "Good heavens, what _is_ the matter?" "How do you know anything is the matter?" "I guessed. I saw your steps." "Everything is going wrong about the play. The expenses get larger every day. To sell even _one_ ticket for a charity, they tell me, is simply out of the question! I must invite everybody, and even then most of them won't come. Just think, my dear Miss Luscombe, all this trouble, worry, and expense for amateurs to play _Romeo and Juliet_ at an invitation performance to an absolutely empty house!" "Why do you think it will be empty?... Your friends?" "My friends? You're my only friend! Every chap at the Club I have spoken to about it said they would be out of town that day. One or two said they would come on afterwards and join me at supper. Supper! I said it was a _matinee_; so then they suggested I should give a dinner afterwards. And even women, they're quite as bad. I mentioned it to Lady Walmer. She is always so keen on going everywhere, and makes a hobby of odd charities and things. She said she was going yachting that day, and also that she was going to a wedding." "What does it matter just about Lady Walmer?" "Nothing, but it's an indication. Do we want to have no one in a theatre but the dressmakers who made the costumes? Miss Luscombe--Flora! I am beginning to think we'd better chuck it." "Oh, Mr. Rathbone! The waste and the disappointment!" "It would be a greater waste to make an utter fool of oneself in an empty house than to postpone it. I'm nervous. I'm really frightened. I'm beginning to see that I've been a fool. As to disappointment, _that_, Flora, you could console me for if you chose."