His manner changed altogether. "My dear young lady, what could be better? They are at the top of the profession." He closed the book as if he wanted time for reflection. "Our fee for appearance without salary is two guineas; with salary, ten per cent. I think you said Great College Street, Westminster--secluded and near the Abbey--very nice indeed,"

writing down the address. "You might call again, Miss Vincent, or you shall hear from us," and he closed the book.

Margaret turned quickly to the door, giving Miss Ramsey and Mr. Baker a little haughty nod between them.

"I don't think much of the young lady's manner," Mr. Baker said, after she had gone, "but her face ought to be a fortune. I wonder if she really knows Farley?"

Miss Ramsey got up and looked at herself in the fly-blown gla.s.s and at the dirty cards stuck in its frame. "Wish I were as young as that girl; I'm tired of playing in rubbish," she said.

"Why don't you ask Farley to give you something?"

"No good. I can't stand his patronizing ways."

"Make Murray write you a part."

"Bosh! He read me an act of one of his plays, long-winded talk and nothing to do, too much poetry, and not enough--not enough bigness for me. I want something to move about with in a play. Besides, he won't risk any money even on his own stuff; too platonic for that--platonics are always economical. Ta-ta."

"Have a whiskey and soda?"

"No, thank you," and she, too, disappeared down the dirty staircase that Margaret had taken a few minutes before.

XXIII

It was five o'clock when Margaret knocked at the street door in Great College Street again.

"There's a lady waiting for you," Mrs. Gilman said, as she let her in.

"A lady!" Margaret exclaimed, and hurried up-stairs. In the drawing-room sat Hannah. She wore her blue alpaca frock and black straw hat with the upstanding bow on one side; she had thrown aside her cape, and the moment she saw Margaret she took off her hat as if to prepare herself for the fray.

"Well," she said, "this is a pretty thing to do, isn't it? You'll just come home with me this very moment."

Margaret stood with her back to the door. "It's very kind of you to come up, Hannah, but I'm going to stay here," she answered.

"You'll do nothing of the sort."

The determination in Hannah's voice put the bit between Margaret's teeth. "I am going to stay here," she repeated.

"Either you come home this minute," replied Hannah, who had made up her mind that a firm policy was the right one to use with Margaret, "or you don't come at all."

"Then I don't come at all--till my father returns."

"And that won't be for another year, if then. There was a letter this morning which showed it plain enough."

"Then I'll come back when you are married, to take care of our mother."

Hannah turned pale with rage. "Now look here, Margaret," she said, "and understand that I don't want any taunts from you. You've taken good care to put an end to all that forever. It's my belief that you think Mr.

Garratt is going to follow you up to London." At which Margaret raised her head quickly, but she only half convinced Hannah.

"I don't want Mr. Garratt," she said, "and I won't let him know where I am, I promise you that, and if he finds out he shall not enter the house. He lost his temper yesterday, but he didn't mean any of the things he said, and now that I'm away he'll come back to you."

"I'll take good care he never enters the place," said Hannah. "Perhaps you don't know that he's written you a letter? I could tell his handwriting on the envelope, though he has tried to alter it."

"You can open it and read it, or give it back to him, or put it in the fire," Margaret answered. "It's such a long way for you to have come; won't you have some tea, Hannah?"

"I don't want any tea. If that's where you sleep," she added, nodding towards the other room, "you had better go and pack up your things at once. We shall have time to catch the 6.50; I don't mind taking a cab to the station."

"It's no use; I'm not coming," Margaret, answered, firmly.

"And what do you think you are going to do in London?" asked Hannah, beginning to lose her temper again. "And what sort of a house is this you're in, I should like to know, with an actress lodging down-stairs?

I've found that out already."

"I hope I shall be an actress, too, soon."

"You!" Hannah almost screamed. "You that have no religion now want to be an actress; where do you think it will all end?"

"I am not going to discuss it with you," Margaret answered, loftily, "it was very kind of you to come, but if you won't have any tea you had better go home again. I have written to father, and I know that my mother will trust me. I have not got any of the religion that makes you narrow and hard; you have made me afraid of even thinking about that; and I'm going to be an actress. But I won't do anything wrong--"

"We are all weak--" Hannah began, in consternation.

"I will be as strong as I can," Margaret cried, pa.s.sionately. "Go back, Hannah, and think things over. If there can be peace at home, and Mr.

Garratt is not a bone of contention between us--I don't want him, you understand--presently I will come home again."

"You return with me to-night," Hannah insisted, "or you shall not enter the house again."

"I shall not return with you to-night," Margaret answered, doggedly.

"It's what I always knew would come of it. Understand now, Margaret, once for all, that unless you go back with me I'll have the door closed against you. I'd turn the key and close the bolts myself, though it were the coldest night in winter."

"But remember I have a right to come," Margaret said, blazing a little.

"You have no right to lock me out of my mother's house."

"Right or not right, you shall not enter till I'm forced to let you in.

I've had unbelievers long enough about the place, but when it comes to actresses, too, it's time I made a stand, and I'll make it. Now, then, are you coming?" she asked, in a threatening voice.

"No, I'm not."

"Very well, then, the rest is on your own head." Hannah opened the door and hesitated. "I'm sure I've had enough of you," she said, as she went down the stairs. Margaret flew after her.

"Oh, tell my mother that I love her," she cried, entreatingly.

"Pretty love!" said Hannah, scornfully, as she stalked along the little hall and out into the street.

"Hannah--"

"Pretty love!" repeated Hannah from the pavement, "I've no patience with it," and, with her head in the air, she marched up the street.