“To be frank, Mr. Lennox, I understand you have made certain proposals—er—conditions to her—which I regret should have come from a member of my company.” Sydney Lennox rose rather stiffly. “I don’t admit your right to interfere in my private affairs, Mr. Cardomay. What I may choose to do or not to do is no possible concern of yours.” “No?” came the mild rejoinder. “But it happens that I take a personal interest in this young lady.” “Indeed?” said Lennox, then added unforgiveably, “First come, first served.” One assumes that Sydney Lennox had played in his time many villains, for he deported himself throughout the offensive inspired by his previous remark, with a cynical calm little short of remarkable. Briefly and very much to the point Eliphalet Cardomay spoke his mind, and what he said could hardly have been pleasant hearing. At the conclusion, Lennox bowed and walked towards the door. Here he turned with: “What a pity so much eloquence should have been wasted. Doubtless your next move will be to warn the little Eunice against my machinations, but let me assure you that her ambition to get on will certainly outweigh your most moral representations.” “That being so,” replied Eliphalet, “I must think of other means.” “There are no other means.” And with this Parthian arrow Lennox withdrew. It was a challenge, and Eliphalet Cardomay bit his nails over it until he was “called.” While in his bath that night, after a period of much brain-racking, the “other means” suddenly illumined his brain, causing him to rise so abruptly that nearly a gallon of water splashed on the oilcloth, percolated through the ceiling of the parlour below and figured to the extent of fifteen and six-pence on his week’s account. The next morning he said to Manning: “I am going to give a special matinée at Birmingham the week after next. Second Act of ‘The Corsican Brothers’—Trial Scene from ‘The Merchant of Venice’ and—and—well, I shall think of something.” Freddie Manning politely asked what the idea was. “I wish to—er—to try out some of our younger members.” At the stage-door he encountered Miss Terry, and beckoned her into his dressing-room. “They tell me you are to play a part in Lennox’s tour. Hum?” “Yes,” said Eunice, with a slight increase of colour. “It is, in a sense, unfortunate, since I myself had possibilities for you.” Eunice almost seized his arm. “Oh, Mr. Cardomay,” she exclaimed, “do you really mean that? Oh, I wish you would!” “Some other time, then, perhaps.” “No, now. I’d much rather now.” “But your contract with Mr. Lennox?” “I haven’t signed one. Please——” “Perhaps it would be a mistake, since what I have to offer is only a single performance. Naturally, if your success merited it, I should look after your future.” In her excitement Eunice rose and paced up and down. “Please, please let me do it. I don’t really want to take the other engagement—not a bit, I don’t. What was it you thought of me for?”