"Just about as right as Mama ever gets it," the girl said, still with her indifferent smile. Because her mother was shallow and violent, she had learned to like a pose of silence, of absent-mindedness, and because of the small yet sufficient income afforded by the rented rooms and from alimony, Julia was removed from the necessity that drove these other girls to the hard and constant work of the stage, and could afford her favourite air of fastidious waiting. She was going to be an actress, yes, but not until some plum worthy of her beauty and youth was offered. Meanwhile she listened to the others, followed the history of the favourites of the stage eagerly, and never saw less than four shows a week. Julia, at Juliet's age, had her own ideas as to the interpretation of the Balcony Scene, and could tell why she thought the art of Miss Rehan less finished than that of Madame Modjeska. But personally she lacked ambition, in this direction at least. However, she joined in the girls' talk with great zest; a manager was to be put in his place, and several theories were advanced as to his treatment. "I swear to God if Max don't give me twenty lines in the next, I'll go on to New York," said a Miss Connie Girard dispassionately. "There's a party I know there rents a house that Frohman owns, and he'd give me a letter. What I want is a Broadway success." "That time we played--you know, seven weeks running, in Portland," said a stout, aging actress, "the time my little dance made such a hit, you know--" "Mind jer, Max never come near us this morning," interrupted a Miss Rose Ransome firmly. "Because he knew what he done, and he wasn't looking for trouble! He wrote a notice--" "One of the Portland papers, in c'menting on the show--" the dancer resumed. "Say, Julie, want to walk down to Kearney with me?" Miss Girard said, jumping up. "I want to get my corsets, and we might drop in and see if we can work Foster for some seats for to-night." "I've got a date to-night," said Julia, with a glance at her mother. "What's that?" Emeline said sharply. "Why, Mama, I told you I was going to the Orpheum with the Rosenthals--" "She's going with the whole bunch," Mrs. Page commented, with a shrug. "I can't stand them, but she can!" "I think Mark Rosenthal's a darling," some girl said, "I want to tell you right now there's not anybody can play the piano as good as he can." "That's right," Julia said, very low. "Well, excuse me from the bunch!" Mrs. Page said lazily. "But we've got a real pretty little blush, just the same!" Mrs. Tarbury said, smiling at Julia. The girls shouted, and Julia grew still more red. "Never mind, baby love!" said the older woman soothingly. "It's just Aunt Min's nonsense! Say, but listen, Julia!" Her tone grew suddenly intense. "I meant to ask you something--listen. Say, no fooling, Artheris wants to know if you would take a job." "Twenty a week, and twenty towns a month," Julia said, still ruffled. "No, I would not!"