She began to speak; a long, strong, colourless voice quavered in her young throat. She delivered the lines of Clorinde in the admired interview with Celie, the gem of the third act, with a rude monotony, and then, gaining confidence, with an effort at modulation which was not altogether successful and which evidently she felt not to be so. Madame Carre sent back the ball without raising her hand, repeating the speeches of Celie, which her memory possessed from their having so often been addressed to her, and uttering the verses with soft, communicative art. So they went on through the scene, which, when it was over, had not precisely been a triumph for Miriam Rooth. Sherringham forbore to look at Gabriel Nash, and Madame Carre said: "I think you've a voice, _ma fille_, somewhere or other. We must try and put our hand on it." Then she asked her what instruction she had had, and the girl, lifting her eyebrows, looked at her mother while her mother prompted her. "Mrs. Delamere in London; she was once an ornament of the English stage. She gives lessons just to a very few; it's a great favour. Such a very nice person! But above all, Signor Ruggieri--I think he taught us most." Mrs. Rooth explained that this gentleman was an Italian tragedian, in Rome, who instructed Miriam in the proper manner of pronouncing his language and also in the art of declaiming and gesticulating. "Gesticulating I'll warrant!" declared their hostess. "They mimic as for the deaf, they emphasise as for the blind. Mrs. Delamere is doubtless an epitome of all the virtues, but I never heard of her. You travel too much," Madame Carre went on; "that's very amusing, but the way to study is to stay at home, to shut yourself up and hammer at your scales." Mrs. Rooth complained that they had no home to stay at; in reply to which the old actress exclaimed: "Oh you English, you're _d'une legerete a faire fremir._ If you haven't a home you must make, or at least for decency pretend to, one. In our profession it's the first requisite." "But where? That's what I ask!" said Mrs. Rooth. "Why not here?" Sherringham threw out. "Oh here!" And the good lady shook her head with a world of sad significance. "Come and live in London and then I shall be able to paint your daughter," Nick Dormer interposed. "Is that all it will take, my dear fellow?" asked Gabriel Nash. "Ah, London's full of memories," Mrs. Rooth went on. "My father had a great house there--we always came up. But all that's over." "Study here and then go to London to appear," said Peter, feeling frivolous even as he spoke. "To appear in French?" "No, in the language of Shakespeare." "But we can't study that here." "Mr. Sherringham means that he will give you lessons," Madame Carre explained. "Let me not fail to say it--he's an excellent critic."