Had Etta known that the author of this screed was a youth of eighteen, who had asked for two stalls and been allotted but one, she might have been less crestfallen than she was when her fingers discovered this considerable thorn upon her rose-bush. But she knew little of the drama and less than nothing of its criticism; and there were tears in her eyes when she put the papers down.

"How cruel," she said, "how could people write of others like that!"

She did not believe that she could have the heart to read more, and might not have done so had not little Dulcie Holmes flung herself into the room at that very moment and positively screamed an expression of her rapture.

"Oh, you dear," she cried, "oh, you splendid Etta! Have you read them!

Have you seen them? Now isn't it lovely? Aren't you proud of them, Etta? Aren't you just crying for joy?"

Lucy Grey, who had climbed the stairs in a more stately fashion and was very much out of breath at the top of them, came in upon the climax to tell Dulcie not to carry on so dreadfully and to a.s.sure Etta that the notices were very nice. She, however, soon joined a shrill voice to her friend's, and the two, sitting upon the bed, began to read the papers together with such a running babble of comment, interjections, cries, and good-natured expressions of envy, that the neighbors might well have believed the house to be on fire.

"The curtain fell to rapturous--oh, Etta--now, Lucy, do keep quiet--her acting in the Gallery Scene--I say that I began it first--her acting in the Gallery Scene--she has a grace so subtle, a manner so winning--isn't that lovely!--now, Lucy, be quiet--we began to think after the Second Act--oh, bother the Second Act--now, there you go again--she is indeed the embodiment of that picture romance has painted for us and history destroyed--oh, Etta--!" and so on, and so on.

Etta admitted upon this that they had some good excuse for congratulating her. In the theatre she found it quite natural to listen to the girls' pleasant chatter and to put herself upon their level both as to Bohemian habits of life and odd views of the world.

Away from the theatre, however, the Evelyn in her would a.s.sert itself.

Despite her affectionate nature, she found herself not a little repelled by that very freedom of speech and act which seemed to her so delightful a thing upon the stage. She was too kind-hearted to show it, but her distaste would break out at intervals, especially in those quiet morning hours when the freshness of the day reproached the memories of the night with its garish scenes and its jingling melodies.

To-day, especially, she would have given much to be alone to think upon it all and try to understand both what she had done and what the consequences might be. But the girls gave her no opportunity even for a moment's leisure.

"You said we'd lunch at the Savoy, Etta----"

"And you'd drive us in the Park afterwards----"

"Aren't you really very rich, Etta? You must be, I'm sure. Do you know I have only got three shillings in the world and that must last me until salaries are paid."

"I've worn this dress seven months," said Lucy, "and look at it.

Who'll write nice things about me with my petticoat in rags? Well, I suppose what is to be is to be. I'm going to the Vaudeville in the Autumn and perhaps my ship will come in."

"My dear children," said Etta kindly, "you know that I will always help you when I can, and you must let me help you to-day when I am happy--so happy," she added almost to herself, "that I do not believe it is real even now."

They laughed at her quaint ideas and would have read the notices over again to her but for her emphatic protest.

"No," she said, "we have so much to do; so much to think of. After all, what does it matter while the sun is shining?"

CHAPTER V

THE LETTER

The sunny day, indeed, pa.s.sed all too quickly. A splendid telegram, fifty words long, from the splendid Mr. Charles Izard set the seal of that great man's approval upon the verdict of the newspapers.

"You have got right there," he wired, "the business follows. See me at four o'clock without fail...."

"That means a long engagement," said the shrewd Dulcie, when she read the telegram.

Lucy, prudent always, thought that Etta should have a gentleman to advise her.

"Don't go to the theatre-lawyers," she said; "they always make love to you. If you had a gentleman friend, it would be nice to speak to him about it. Mr. Izard knows what he's got in his lucky bag. Now, don't you go to signing anything just because he asks you, dear. Many's the poor girl who's engaged herself when half the managers in London wanted her. I should hold my head very high if it were me. That's the only way with such people."

Etta promised to do so, and having taken them to lunch, as she promised, she found herself, at four o'clock of the afternoon, in the elegant office wherein the great Charles Izard did his business. Then she remembered with what awe and trepidation she had entered that sanctum upon her first business visit to London. How different it was to-day, and yet how unreal still! The little man had the morning and evening papers properly displayed upon his immense writing table; and, when Etta came in, he wheeled up a chair for her with all the ceremony with which he was capable.

"Why, now," he said, "what did I tell you? Afraid of the newspapers, eh? Well, there they are, my dear. Don't tell me you haven't read 'em, for I shouldn't believe you."

Etta admitted that she might have glanced at them.

"Every one seems very kind to me," she said. "I wish they had spoken as well of the play; but I suppose they must find fault with something.

I know so little about these things, Mr. Izard."

"Then you'll soon learn, my dear. As for what they say about the play, that don't matter two cents while the business keeps up. We'll take $9,000 this week or I know nothing about it. Let the newspapers enjoy themselves while they can. They've been kind enough to you; but you're clever enough to understand the advantages my name gives you. Produce that play at any other house and let any other man bill it and they'd have the notices up in a fortnight. But they'll take just what I give 'em, because I know just what they want and how they want it. That's how we're going to do business together. You can earn good money with me and I can find you the plays. My cards are all on the table; I'll sign a three years' engagement here and now and pay you a hundred dollars a week--that's 20 sterling, English money. If you want to think it over, take your own time. You've a good deal of talent for the stage, and my theatre is going to make you--that's what you've to say to yourself, 'Charles Izard will produce me and his name spells money.' As I say, take your own time to think it over. And don't forget you are the first woman in all my life to whom I have offered a hundred dollars a week on a first engagement."

Etta listened a little timidly to these frank and business-like proposals. Such a situation as this had never occurred to her when she left her home in Derbyshire and set out upon this mad escapade. She had asked for a hearing from a man who made it his boast that he saw and heard every one who cared to approach him. The tone of her letter, the restraint of it, the fact that she had known Haddon Hall all her life, that every bit of that splendid ruin, every tree in the old park, every glade in the gardens were familiar to her, struck a note of a.s.sent in the great American's imagination and compelled him to send for her. He believed that at the outset she would serve for a "walking on" part. When he saw her, he asked her to read a scene from "Haddon Hall" and heard her on the stage. Then he said, "Here is a born actress, and not only that but an aristocrat besides." The secrecy which had attended her application whetted his desire to engage her.

"I will play for a month for nothing," she had said. Even Charles Izard did not feel disposed to offer her a smaller sum.

And here he was talking of agreements for a term of three years and of 20 a week!

How to answer him Etta did not know.

She was perfectly well aware that her weeks in London must be few. Any day might bring a letter from her father in which he would speak of a return to Derbyshire. The mythical visit to Aunt Anne, which had been her excuse to the servants at home, would be exploded in a moment should her father return. None the less, the situation had its humors.

"If only I dare tell Mr. Izard," she had said to herself, knowing well that, she would not tell him unless it were as a last resource.

"You are as kind to me as the critics," she exclaimed upon a pause, which greatly alarmed that shrewd man of business--he had expected her to jump down his throat at the offer. "You are very kind to me, Mr.

Izard, and you will not misunderstand me when I hesitate. I have already told you that money is nothing to me. Perhaps I am tired of the stage already; I do not know. I feel quite unable to say anything about it to-day. It is all so new to me. I want to be quite sure that I am a success before I accept any one's money."

Her reply astonished Izard very much, though he tried to conceal his annoyance. Shuffling his papers with a fat hand, upon which a great diamond ring sparkled, he breathed a little heavily and then asked almost under his breath:

"Any one else been round?"

"Do you mean to ask me have I any other offers?"

"That's so."

"As frankly, none--at present."

He looked at her shrewdly.

"Expecting them, I suppose?"

"I have never thought of it," she said, greatly amused at the turn affairs were taking. "Of course, I know that successful people do get offers----"

"But not twice from Charles Izard," he exclaimed very meaningly--then turning round in his chair he looked her straight in the face and said, "Suppose I make it one hundred and fifty dollars?"

"Oh," she rejoined, "it really is not a question of money, Mr.

Izard----"

"No," he said savagely, "it's that--Belinger. Been seeing you, hasn't he--talking of what he could do? Well, you know your own business best. That man will be waiting on my doorstep by and by, and he'll have to wait patiently. Think it over when you're tossing us both in the blanket. He's a back number; I'm a dozen editions."

Etta was seriously tempted to smile at this frightened earnestness and at the great man's idea of her shrewdness. She could not forget, however, that he had given her the opportunity she had so greatly longed for to put the dreams of her girlhood to the proof. And for that she would remain lastingly grateful.