"Albert Edward himself, Blainey," she answered, with an accented note of pride. She knew the man she was dealing with. Brutal and contemptuous to innocence, but bowing down with a sneaking admiration to the woman who played the game and won out, not for a moment did he doubt that she was of the shrewdest and the most unprincipled. And this conviction stood like a shield before her in this room where other women had gone in with a shrug. "Sassoon, eh?" he said admiringly, and he gave vent to a long whistle. "Well, trim 'em, kid, trim 'em!" "That's what I'm doing, Blainey, and the finest!" She took his accents, almost the contemptuous abruptness of his gestures, transforming herself into his world. "When are you going to get tired of all that?" he said, his eyes narrowing covetously. "It's a short game. This is longer, safer." "When? Pretty soon, Blainey." "Why not now?" She shook her head, laughing. "Too soon--too soon!" He reached over into a drawer and drew out a play. "Do you see this? I'm keeping this for you!" She opened her eyes. "For me?" "There's a fortune in it. There's a scene there"--he swore appreciatively--"it's all in a scene, a trick; but it's a winner. And I'm holding that for you, kid." "Star me?" she said, laughing incredulously. "In the third year--yes!" "Come, now, Blainey, I'm no fool. I'm not that strong on acting!" "Acting be damned. Personality!" he said, slapping the table. "You've got me--you can get them!" "Have I got you, Blainey?" she said, looking at him boldly. "You got me from the first with your impudent way," he said abruptly. "I'm interested in you, kid--particularly interested! You understand what I mean?" "It's not hard to understand you, T. B." "I'll put you on Broadway in two years," he said. Then, bubbling over with enthusiasm, he took up the rôle again. "God! there's a scene here that'll get 'em--won't be a dry handkerchief in the house!" He continued, his face lighting up with sentiment, for scenes of virtue triumphant, virtue resisting, virtue rewarded, genuinely moved him--on the stage: "End of second act, the girl learns she's an intruder--not Lady Marjorie, heiress to millions, but a waif, substituted, see? It's a lie, of course; all works out well in the last act; but you don't know that. She's got an exit there beats anything in _Camill_! Runs away, see? Leaves everything--jewels, clothes, money, nothing belongs to her.