"Do they really think it will harm the militant cause? Do they _really_ think so? No, it will only harm me. I made a mistake in tactics. I trusted--fool!--to the chivalry of the United States. I might have been arrested in a dozen cities, but I on purpose reserved my last two arrests for Chicago and New York, for the sake of the superior advertisement, you see! I never dreamt--! Now it's too late. I am defeated! I shall just arrive in London on the hundredth day. I shall have made speeches at all the meetings. But I shall be short of one arrest. And the ten thousand pounds will be lost to the cause. The militants here--such as they are--are as disgusted as I am. But they scorn me. And are they not right? Are they not right? There should be no quarter for the vanquished." "Miss Joy," said Edward Henry, "I've come over from London specially to see you. I want to make up the loss of that ten thousand pounds as far as I can. I'll explain at once. I'm running a poetical play of the highest merit, called 'The Orient Pearl,' at my new theatre in Piccadilly Circus. If you will undertake a small part in it--a part of three words only--I'll pay you a record salary, sixty-six pounds thirteen and four-pence a word--two hundred pounds a week!" Isabel Joy jumped up. "Are you another of them, then?" she muttered. "I did think from the look of you that you would know a gentlewoman when you met one! Did you imagine for the thousandth part of one second that I would stoop--" "Stoop!" exclaimed Edward Henry. "My theatre is not a music-hall--" "You want to make it into one!" she stopped him. "Good day to you," she said. "I must face those journalists again, I suppose. Well, even they--! I came alone in order to avoid them. But it was hopeless. Besides, is it my duty to avoid them--after all?" It was while passing through the door that she uttered the last words. "Where is she?" Seven Sachs inquired, entering. "Fled!" said Edward Henry. "Everything all right?" "Quite!" Mr. Rentoul Smiles came in. "Mr. Smiles," said Edward Henry, "did you ever photograph Sir John Pilgrim?" "I did, on his last visit to New York. Here you are!" He pointed to his rendering of Sir John. "What did you think of him?" "A great actor, but a mountebank, sir."