ood time, you know. I had two or three offers
of engagements with provincial companies this autumn, but I refused them
all because I had this one at the Frivolity. They were to give me two
pounds a week; and it was considered a very good engagement. Besides, it
was a London engagement, which I thought it better to take while I had
the chance. But I have lost it now, and I don't know what to do."

"You know the first question one naturally feels inclined to put to you,
Miss West, is, why did you leave the Frivolity?"

"I can't tell you the real reason," said the girl sharply. The color in
her face seemed now to be concentrated in two flaming spots in her
cheeks; her mouth was set, and her brow contracted over the brilliant
eyes. "I quarrelled with the manager--that was all."

"Let me see--the manager is Ferguson, is he not? I know him."

"But he is not a friend of yours?" said Cynthia, turning towards him
with a look of sudden dismay.

"Certainly not! He is the most confirmed liar I ever met," Hubert
answered without a smile.

But he was a little curious in his own mind. From what he knew of
Ferguson, he supposed it likely that the man had been making love to the
young actress, that she had refused to listen to him, and that he had
therefore dismissed her from the troupe. Such things had happened
before, he knew, during Mr. Ferguson's reign; and the Frivolity did not
bear the very best character in the world. With a girl of Cynthia West's
remarkable beauty, it was pretty easy to guess the story, although the
girl in her innocence thought that she was concealing it completely.

"He said that I was careless," Cynthia went on rapidly. "He changed the
hour for rehearsal twice, and let everybody know but me; then I was
fined, of course; and I complained, and then he said I had better go."

"What made you come to me?" said Hubert. "I am not a manager, you know."

"You have a great deal of influence," she said, rather more shyly than
she had spoken hitherto.

"Very little indeed. Other people have much more. Why did you not try
Gurney or Thomson or Macalister?"--mentioning names well known in the
theatrical world.

"Oh, Mr. Lepel," said the girl, almost in a whisper, "you will think me
so foolish if I tell you!"

"No, I sha'n't. Do tell me why!"

"Well"--still in a whisper--"it was because I read a story, that you had
written--a tale about a girl called Amy Maitland--do you remember?"

"I ought to remember," sai