Both women were honestly and healthily hungry, and talked very little until they were half through the trout. Then they met each other’s eyes and laughed a little. “Thank goodness you don’t pretend not to have an appetite, like most girls!” said Miss Legaye. “I’m starved, and not a bit ashamed of it! Boned squab, after this, waiter, and romaine salad.” “If you let me eat so much I shall be dull and stupid,” declared Sybil. “And I want to be extra brilliant to talk to my manager. I simply have to hypnotize him into engaging me!” “Who is he?” “Altheimer.” “Altheimer! You aren’t going into musical comedy, surely?” Sybil flushed a bit and bent over her plate to hide her discomfort. “I—I’m going into anything I can get,” she answered in a low voice. Then she smiled and went on more bravely: “I’ve been out of work since March, Miss Legaye. Beggars can’t be choosers.” “Oh, dear—how horrid!” Miss Legaye felt sincerely sympathetic—for the moment. “It’s a thousand pities that you have to go into one of the Altheimer shows. You can really act, and there—well, of course, he doesn’t care about whether you can act or not; he’ll take you for your figure.” And she looked the other girl over candidly. Sybil flushed again, but answered promptly: “I think he has some sort of part for me—a real part. He knows I don’t sing or dance. You are rehearsing, aren’t you, Miss Legaye?” “Yes; with Alan Mortimer.” “I wish you’d tell me what you think of him!” said Sybil, with interest. “He’s such a mystery to every one. His first play, isn’t it? As a star, I mean.” “Yes; Dukane is trying an experiment—starring an unknown actor in a Broadway production. Pretty daring, isn’t it? But Dukane doesn’t make many mistakes. He knows Alan Mortimer will make good. He’s got a lot of personality, and he’s extremely attractive, I think. I—saw a good deal of him down at Nantucket during the summer.” Kitty Legaye never blushed, but there was a certain soft hesitancy about the way in which she uttered the simple words that was, for her, the equivalent of a blush. Sybil, noting it, privately concluded that there had been something like a romance “down at Nantucket during the summer.” Being a nice girl, and a tactful one, she said gently: “Is it a good play, do you think?” Miss Legaye shrugged her shoulders carelessly; the moment of sentiment had passed. “It’s melodrama,” she rejoined; “the wildest sort. ‘Boots and Saddles’ is the name, and it’s by Carlton; now you know.” They both laughed. Carlton was a playwright of fluent and flexible talent, who made it his business always to know the public pulse. “What time is your appointment with Altheimer?” “Quarter past one.” “What an ungodly hour! Doesn’t the man ever eat? But finish your lunch comfortably; if you’re late he’ll appreciate you all the more. Besides——” She paused, regarding the girl cautiously and critically; and that evanescently calculating look drifted across her face for the space of a breath.