a replica of the outer. It too was scantily
furnished. On a large table heaps of dusty papers were stacked. An
ash-tray overflowed over one end. In a corner stood a rickety-looking
piano. The walls were profusely decorated with posters and photographs,
presumably of actors and actresses, some highly renowned. Victoria felt
respect creeping into her soul.

Carrel placed a chair for her before the table and resumed his own. For
the space of a second or two he looked Victoria over. She was a little
too conscious of his scrutiny to be quite at ease, but she was not
afraid of the verdict.

'So, Mademoiselle,' said the man gently, 'you wish for an engagement on
the stage?'

Victoria had not expected such directness. 'Yes, I do,' she said. 'That
is, I was thinking of it since I got your card.'

'My card?' said Carrel, raising his eyebrows a little. 'How did you get
my card?'

Victoria told him briefly how the card had been thrust into her hand,
how curious it was and how surprised she had been as she did not know
the woman and had never seen her again. Then she frankly confessed that
she had no experience of the stage but wanted to earn her living and
that . . . She stopped aghast at the tactical error. But Carrel was
looking at her fixedly, a smile playing on his lips as he pulled his
tiny moustache with his jewelled hand.

'Yes, certainly, I understand,' he said. 'Experience is very useful,
naturally. But you must begin and you know: _il n'y a que le premier pas
qui coute_. Now perhaps you can sing? It would be very useful.'

'Yes, I can sing,' said Victoria doubtfully, suppressing 'a little,'
remembering her first mistake.

'Ah, that is good,' said Carrel smiling. 'Will you sit down to the
piano? I have no music; ladies always bring it but do you not know
something by heart?'

Victoria got up, her heart beating a little and went to the piano. 'I
don't know anything French,' she said.

'It does not matter,' said Carrel, 'you will learn easily.' He lowered
the piano stool for her. As she sat down the side of his head brushed
her shoulder lightly. A faint scent of heliotrope rose from his hair.

Victoria dragged off her gloves nervously, felt for the pedals and with
a voice that trembled a little sang two ballads which had always pleased
Lympton. The piano was frightfully out of tune. Everything conspired to
make her nervous. It was only when she struck the last note that she
looked at the impresario.

'Very go