"I know you do, and why shouldn't you, seeing you are to be my son-in-law," whimpered Mrs. Dumps. "Much as I hate the music-hall, I'd have come myself during the past three weeks to take the child home, rather than let her go alone. But I always trusted that you would look after her, Mr. Ferdinand, though you do know grinning Jezebels behind bars. Here's the stage door--what a hole! Why, my backyard is cleaner, and ain't got such dirt about it. Oh, that a child of Twine should come to this, and him a godly man with a gift of speech surprising, though he did wag his elbow more than he need have done, and was brought to an early grave with a handsome tombstone in consequence." While Mrs. Dumps ran on in this disconnected fashion, Clarice saw at the far end of the alley, which led to the stage door of the Mascot Music Hall, a smart motor-car in charge of a smart chauffeur. She was about to ask Mrs. Dumps if this was the steam-engine she referred to as belonging to Zara, when the stage door opened, and the girl herself came out, looking wonderfully pretty, and wonderfully angry. She mistook Clarice for her brother, as everyone else had done, and came up to him at once. "Oh, there you are, Ferdy," she said, speaking as fast as her mother was in the habit of doing. "I am glad you have come. I'm in such a rage. I can't do my second turn to-night at the Muses Hall, as Brown has gone off." "Brown! Who is Brown?" "You know--you know," said Zara, pettishly. "He does the Chrysalis, and very badly, too. I've only had him for a few weeks, as a kind of makeshift. He's gone mad, I think, for he bolted immediately after the call, and in his stage kit too. I'll have to pay a forfeit to the Muses Hall manager, and I don't like doing that. It's bad for my pocket and for my reputation. But we can't stop talking here all night. Come on, mother"--she took Mrs. Dumps' arm--"were you very much shocked with my sketch?" "I've had a shock," said Mrs. Dumps, as she was hurried down the alley, "that will last me till my dying day." "Oh, bother," said Zara, apparently thinking that the Puritanic little woman referred to the sketch. "I wish you hadn't come now. I might have guessed that you would find fault. Now, how are we going, Ferdy?" They were standing beside the motor-brougham by this time. "I get inside and Mr. Ferdinand can go with the driver," said Mrs. Dumps, determinedly. "I shan't chance the night air, after the turn I had, when you had to get the sal volatile for me, Zara. And I want to speak to you, miss. How dare you----" "Here! Here! Don't talk, but get in," and Zara, dexterously pushing her parent into the brougham, slipped inside herself. "Get on the box with Hastings, Ferdy, and tell him to drive home."