“Well?” monsieur de Maubert removed his glasses as if for a more unimpeded observation of his companion. “And what is amiss with the theatre? You did not, evidently, suppose that they narrowed the opportunities of a young girl such as Alix to that career only; but it will suffice for the argument. What is amiss with it? It may be a great career for a woman of talent. Our friend mademoiselle Fontaine, for example, has made for herself a distinguished name.” Giles felt that his face was hot, but he went doggedly on: “I know. I’m not belittling it. But, from the way they spoke, I infer it’s not what it is with us.” “A playground for pretty amateurs? A display of dressmakers’ _mannequins_? No; it is not. We are a more serious people than you when it comes to art.” Giles was not to be abashed. “With us it is one honourable alternative among others. It’s a career any young girl can follow, except among old-fashioned, prejudiced people. And I mean young girls of good character; of good standing.” “What you mean, I think,” said monsieur de Maubert, “is that with us it is not seen as a suitable career for a _jeune fille du monde_. Alix is not a _jeune fille du monde_.” “No; I don’t mean only that,” said Giles. “Or perhaps that it is not with us a career _pour une vierge_,” monsieur de Maubert further defined. “There you are right. I do not easily imagine a great actress who is not also a woman of experience. That is all that it comes to, is it not?” Giles wondered for a moment if this, indeed, was all that it came to for him. He had not thought of it in those terms, and it gave him an added chill to find that monsieur de Maubert did. “What it comes to for me,” he said, “is that I don’t think it a suitable career for Alix;—precisely because of what you say; and what’s more, I don’t believe her mother does, either.” At this monsieur de Maubert was silent for some moments, and in the silence Giles felt anew that, ambiguous, even sinister as he might be, his sympathy could be counted upon where any interest of madame Vervier’s was in question. If he reflected thus carefully, it was, Giles felt, because from Alix they had passed to madame Vervier. “You are right. Her mother is with you,” he said at last, surprisingly. “It is because she is with you that she sent the child last winter. She sees the difficulties that you see. She would prefer, to any artistic career in France, that Alix should marry in England. Marriage is what she intends for her. She would, I am sure, be glad to talk of any possibilities for Alix with you.” “I hope she’ll let me have a talk with her; I’m glad of what you tell me,” Giles muttered, though bewildered by monsieur de Maubert’s calm assumptions.