‘I used to go to the theatre with Mademoiselle de Berny, and she used to make me hear her go through her parts. I always loved acting, Mr. Forster, and at Mr. White’s there were so many professional people. Afterwards, when I was older, I tried to think how I could repay my dear guardian for all his kindness, and then I thought if I could act--only a little--it would be some help. When he first heard me recite he was pleased, and I told him I would like to become an actress and act in _his_ plays. So he sent me down into the country to try. That was how it began.’ ‘And you like acting?’ ‘Better than anything in the world; best of all, Mr. Forster, because it makes my dear guardian happy.’ ‘You will make a great name/ ‘I don’t care for that--yes, I do care; for a great name would mean a great deal of money, and I want _that?_ ‘Indeed! Why?’ ‘Because Mr. White is poor, and I want to make him rich--as rich as he deserves to be, for all his goodness to me. I love him so much. I should like to put him in a palace and surround him with splendour, like a king in a fairy tale.’ Forster laughed merrily. ‘I don’t think White would care for a palace, and he’s too Bohemian for a king.’ ‘What do you mean by Bohemian?’ asked Madeline, with her characteristic frankness. ‘I often hear the word, and I don’t understand it.’ ‘I’m not sure that I do either,’ he answered at once, ‘unless it means unconventionality, carelessness of appearances, contempt for Mrs. Grundy. In White’s case, though, it means far more--honesty, lightness of heart, patience under disappointment, all combined in one of the best fellows in the world.’ ‘If you knew all about him, Mr. Forster, you would say even more than that. If you knew--if you knew--but no one will ever know but God! Oh, I should die if he even thought me ungrateful--he is so good. I have no other friend in all the world!’ ‘Do not cry; you have one other.’ ‘No.’ ‘While I live, I hope you will not doubt it.’ She paused, and, looking at him through her tears, held out both her hands. ‘It is so kind of you to say so,’ she cried. ‘Yes, you are good also; but no one in the world can be to me what Mr. White has been.’ ‘It is right that you should be grateful,’ said Forster, gently, ‘and I think more highly of you for that holy feeling. But here we are at the Marble Arch. Must I call a cab?’ ‘If you please, unless you will drive home with me, and see Mr. White. I know he is at home, for he is very busy on his new play.’ The offer was accepted as frankly as it was made, and Forster’s face shone with pleasure. ‘Shall it be a hansom or a four-wheeler?’ he said, smiling. ‘A hansom, please; I cannot bear these slow old things, and I love hansoms. I used to think when I was a little girl that I would like to have one all to myself, and drive about in it for ever.’