“Well,” she said, “now that you’ve picked me up, what do you really want of me?” There was no mitigating smile to soften what she said. She dropped her elbows on the table, rested her chin between her palms and looked at him with the same searching, undisturbed expression that is so disconcerting in children. As he made no reply: “May I have a cocktail?” she inquired. He gave the order. And his mind registered pessimism. “There is nothing doing with this girl,” he thought. “She’s already on the toboggan.” But he said aloud: “That was beautiful work you did down in the theatre, Miss Norne.” “Did you think so?” “Of course. It was astounding work.” “Thank you. But managers and audiences differ with you.” “Then they are very stupid,” he said. “Possibly. But that does not help me pay my board.” “Do you mean you have trouble in securing theatrical engagements?” “Yes, I am through here to-night, and there’s nothing else in view, so far.” “That’s incredible!” he exclaimed. She lifted her glass, slowly drained it. For a few moments she caressed the stem of the empty glass, her gaze remote. “Yes, it’s that way,” she said. “From the beginning I felt that my audiences were not in sympathy with me. Sometimes it even amounts to hostility. Americans do not like what I do, even if it holds their attention. I don’t quite understand why they don’t like it, but I’m always conscious they don’t. And of course that settles it—to-night has settled the whole thing, once and for all.” “What are you going to do?” “What others do, I presume.” “What do others do?” he inquired, watching the lovely sullen eyes. “Oh, they do what I’m doing now, don’t they?—let some man pick them up and feed them.” She lifted her indifferent eyes. “I’m not criticising you. I meant to do it some day—when I had courage. That’s why I just asked you if I might have some champagne—finding myself a little scared at my first step.... But you _did_ say you might have a job for me. Didn’t you?” “Suppose I haven’t. What are you going to do?” The curtain was rising. She nodded toward the bespangled chorus. “Probably that sort of thing. They’ve asked me.” Supper was served. They both were hungry and thirsty; the music made conversation difficult, so they supped in silence and watched the imbecile show conceived by vulgarians, produced by vulgarians and served up to mental degenerates of the same species—the average metropolitan audience. For ten minutes a pair of comedians fell up and down a flight of steps, and the audience shrieked approval. “Miss Norne?” The girl who had been watching the show turned in her chair and looked back at him. “Your magic is by far the most wonderful I have ever seen or heard of. Even in India such things are not done.” “No, not in India,” she said, indifferently. “Where then?” “In China.” “You learned to do such things there?” “Yes.” “Where, in China, did you learn such amazing magic?” “In Yian.” “I never heard of it. Is it a province?”