Dermot made no secret of his admiration for the little actress, it was quite patent to all observers, but his devotion was so unlike anything she had hitherto come across in life that Ivy herself was never startled by it. She quietly drifted into love with him, waking into an altogether new world as she did so, a world far removed from the reach of men like Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes with their compliments, and their presents, and their so-called love, which she knew all the time to be nothing but thinly-veiled selfishness. At last one day, when Ivy was out driving with Mrs. Hereford, Dermot seized the opportunity of a confidential talk with Evereld as she sat at work by the fire. “I want you to give me your advice,” he began, throwing down his pen and drawing a little nearer to her. “Do you think there is any hope at all for me with Miss Grant? I am sure you know without any telling that I fell in love with her the moment she came here. Do you think there is any hope for me?” “That depends,” said Evereld thoughtfully. “Depends on what?” he asked eagerly. “Well, you see Ivy really cares for her profession and is just beginning to succeed in it. I don’t think she would consent to retire.” “I could never allow my wife to remain on the stage,” said Dermot his face clouding. “Then I don’t think you have any business to go to the theatre,” said Evereld. “Every woman you see on the stage is somebody’s wife or somebody’s daughter.” “If one realised that, the disgusting things which amuse some audiences would fail for want of support,” said Dermot musingly. “Not that I imagine for a moment that Miss Grant would ever accept an engagement of which she really disapproved. Doreen would agree with her as to sticking to her profession, and perhaps she is right.” “Having got on so well while she is young,” said Evereld, “for she won’t be eighteen till May, there seems every prospect of her soon getting to a really good position. And there is a sort of fascination about her--she is always popular.” “You mean that I shall have a host of rivals.” “Possibly, but you are early in the field and indeed I think you stand a very good chance.” “Do you think it would be wrong if I spoke to her now? Would it spoil the rest of this time for her?” “Well that would depend on the answer she gave you,” said Evereld laughing. “But indeed I think Ivy is just the sort of girl who would be happier if engaged while she is quite young. You see she is much in the position I was in--quite alone in the world with no relations and but few friends.” So Dermot, who detested waiting and was never at a loss for words, seized an early opportunity of urging his suit, and Max Hereford, coming down from town on the following Saturday, was greeted by his wife with the news that the two were just engaged.