“Nonsense!” said Dukane. “Nothing could touch the vanity of a dyed-in-the-wool detective. What are you going to have, Barrison?” “I have lunched, thanks. If that is coffee—yes, I will have a demi-tasse. I thought Mr. Mortimer was to be with you, Mr. Dukane.” “He is talking to Miss Templeton over there.” Barrison’s eyes darted quickly to the other table. “Your leading woman, is she not?” “She was,” said Dukane calmly. “At present we are not sure whether we have any leading woman or not—are we, Miss Merivale?” And he looked at her kindly. “And, what is more,” said Kitty Legaye irritably, “we shall never find out at this rate. Do you people realize”—she glanced at a tiny gold wrist watch—“that it is nearly two, and that our rehearsal——” “Nearly two!” Sybil’s exclamation was one of real dismay. “And my engagement with Mr. Altheimer——Oh!” “Altheimer, eh?” Dukane looked at her with fresh interest. Whether a manager wants an actress or not, it always makes him prick up his ears to hear of another who may want her. “Telephone him that you have been asked to rehearse for me to-day, and that”—he paused, considering—“that you personally look upon your contract as very nearly signed.” “Oh, Mr. Dukane!” Sybil flushed brilliantly. At that moment she forgot her dread of being in Mortimer’s company; she was conscious of pure joy and of nothing else. “There—run along and phone him. You understand,” he added cautiously, “I’m not really dependable. If you are very bad, I shall say I never thought of engaging you.” “I won’t be,” she laughed valiantly, and sped away in the direction of the telephone booths. Dukane turned to watch the way she walked. In a second he nodded. “Can hurry without scampering,” he murmured critically, “and doesn’t swing her arms about. H’m! Yes, yes; very good.” “What do you really think of her?” asked Kitty, leaning forward. “You know she is my discovery.” “My dear girl, who am I, a mere worm of a manager, to say? I haven’t seen her work yet. She has carriage and a voice, but she may lose her head on the stage and she may read _Lucille_ as though she were reciting the multiplication table. I should say she was intelligent, but one never knows. I engaged a woman once who was all dignity and fine forehead and bumps of perception and the manner born and all the rest of it; and when it came to her big scene, she chewed gum and giggled. I am too old ever to know anything definitely. We must wait and see.” “She is charming to look at,” Barrison ventured. “Ah, you think so?” said the manager quickly. “I am inclined to like her looks myself. And she has youth—youth!” He shook his head half wistfully. “Here comes Mortimer back again, and in a worse temper, by the powers, than when he went!”