“Who cares for striking terror into people?” she replied, merrily, and as she spoke she began to float dreamily away into an exquisitely graceful skirt-dance; her little, childish face growing more and more sweet and tranquil as she proceeded. Clearly dancing was her vocation. Ralph stood with his back to the fire watching her perfect grace: it seemed to him the very poetry of motion. And Ivy was at her very best when she was dancing; at other times her ways occasionally jarred on him, her acting left much to be desired, and a certain vein of silliness in her now and then awoke his contempt, but when dancing she seemed like one inspired; he could only wonder and admire. “Some day you will be our greatest English dancer,” he said, as once more she settled down into her nook beside the fire. “I don’t want to be that,” said Ivy, “English dancers are never made so much of as foreigners, and besides, a dancer’s position is not so good. I mean to be an actress.” “It’s a thousand pities,” said Ralph. “Why do people always want to do things they can’t do well.” Ivy pouted. “Grandfather doesn’t wish me only to dance,” she said. “And besides I have just heard of quite a fresh opening. What would you say to earning two pounds a week?” “I should say I’m not likely to do that yet awhile,” said Ralph, philosophically. “But you can! you can!” said Ivy, clapping her hands joyfully. “There’s an opening for you as well as for me, for I specially asked. It’s a ‘fit up’ company and we should be wanted in February when the pantomime is over.” “Where?” asked Ralph, looking incredulous. “For a tour in Scotland. A ‘fit up’ company too, and nothing to provide but just wigs and shoes and tights.” “Who is the manager?” “The husband of the leading lady. His name is Skoot.” “Don’t like the name,” said Ralph, laughing. “Why what’s in a name?” said Ivy. “The poor man didn’t choose it. For my part I think it is better than assuming some grand name that doesn’t belong to him. And then his Christian name is Theophilus.” But Ralph still laughed. “Worse and worse,” he said. “Theophilus Skoot is a detestable combination. Dick, Tom, or Harry, would have been better. No, no, Ivy; I think we had better stay where we are.”