ey're never there when they're wanted! And those two fellows," she
thought to herself. "If they had been there, they'd have died of
jealousy."

Everybody spoiled her. She needed a strong head to resist the flatteries
with which she was overwhelmed, both as artiste and woman. For instance,
when a row of Roofers were puffing away on the stage, some manager, who
had known her when she was "that high," was sure to observe that her
talent, her firm, round hips--"Eh, Lily, you've got plenty of that now!"
... Lily blushed under the compliment--would make more impression than a
whole herd of Roofers:

"Eh, Lily? I say, what are you doing to-night? Come and have some ..."

"Glass-Eye, my handkerchief," Lily broke in, suspecting an invitation to
supper.

Glass-Eye, in obedience to a gesture of Lily's, opened the wrist-bag, gave
Lily the lace handkerchief and Lily hid her mocking smile in a scented
gesture. Then:

"Good-by. Ta-ta!"

And they shook hands, like good friends, nothing more.

Glass-Eye frightened off the admirers with her fixed stare. And Lily had
no lack of them. She loved flirting. She wanted adulation, wanted to be
made much of. She had a revenge to take, arrears to make up; she and
sympathy had, till then, been strangers. She now took her fill of it, got
carried away, saw nothing but lovers around her, three or four at a time,
as when the comic quartet, the Out-of-Tunes, used to grin kisses to her in
the street. It was for her that they were there, every one of them, down
to the acting managers, who did not disdain to come round from the front
and take a turn on the stage. It might be a question of steam-pipes or
electric wires; no matter, Lily took it all to herself, made herself
amiable toward their dress-coats and white shirt-fronts, and said "'K
you!" with the great stage bow, the body bent in a sweeping curtsey, when
they complimented her on her firm, round hips. She stabbed them with
smiles, to make sure of complimentary phrases in their weekly reports to
the central boards. All of them; the electrician, the conductor of the
band, she had them all at her feet. It became a need for Lily to see
people all around her dying for love. It gave her a feeling of mingled
pride and remorse.

"Can I help it, Glass-Eye?" she would ask, to quiet her conscience.
"They're mad. They would leave their wives and children for me!"

She had an autograph album filled with "thoughts" and declarations:

"I love you! _Je