It was beyond Eliphalet Cardomay’s skill to point out the fundamental fault in the girl’s acting, and it was beyond his skill to indicate the fortune to which her facile skill directed her. Had one of those wise and energetic gentlemen been present, those gentlemen who project their three-reel productions upon a white screen and who speak of “Close-ups,” “Eyes that register well,” “Panoraming the Camera,” and so forth, he would have recognised at once the great future awaiting Miss Mornice June in the broad estates of Filmland. “I have nothing but admiration,” said Eliphalet. “You must have studied hard to do so well.” “Studied! I just swotted up the lines, that’s all. How does one study?” “By considering the relative values of what one is saying and inflecting the lines accordingly.” “Oh, I should never be able to do that. I just get a thing, or I don’t get it. But d’you really think it’ll do?” “I imagine it will do more than well.” “Oh, you are a dear! I was sure you’d give me the ‘bird.’” “Tell me: you have been on the stage for some long while?” “Um. Donkeys’ years; but I’m thinking of chucking it.” “Giving it up?” “Yes; for the ‘movies.’” Eliphalet was aghast. To him the Cinema was a very degrading profession. “I think, my dear,” he said, “you would find that a very poor alternative to our beautiful art.” “But I love the ‘movies,’ and I’m sure I should be able to blink myself to fame. I can cry like old Billy-oh when I want to—and the wet-lash stunt is half the battle, y’know.” Just then one of her many admirers came down the corridor. He was a smooth-haired, self-satisfied looking fellow, who played the Second Player. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said. “We shall have to go on in a minute.” Eliphalet moved away and left them together. “You are a rotter, Morny, to talk to that old blighter and leave me in the lurch.” “He’s a duck,” said Mornice, “and I love him.” “I think you love everyone except me.” “Darling,” she exclaimed with outstretched arms, “I love you to distraction. Without you the world would be a desert track, or tract, whichever it is.” “Then for God’s sake give me a kiss!” Mornice considered the proposition in pouting perplexity. Then she laughed and said: “Don’t be such a stupid little fool, Ken.” “You always say that when I come to the point.” “Avoid the point then, darling, and you won’t get your pretty little puds pricked.” “Look here, will you come out to lunch with me?” “Will I—will I? No. I won’t, but I’ll come to tea instead, and pay my own share.” “Won’t you let me kiss you? I’m in deadly earnest, Morny.” “If you’re in deadly earnest you shall kiss me. Oh, but not now. You shall kiss me on the back of the ear when it comes to the cue for the kiss in our scene.” And so saying, she ducked her head and bolted down the corridor as fast as she could run.