y? I cannot
sing, and I have never acted in my life."

"That is nothing," Fanny went on impatiently. "You are young, you are
pretty; you can dance, I suppose, and look nice. I can get you taken on
to-morrow, for old Daddy Brown, that is the manager, is a friend of
mine, and while he is a friend he will do anything for me. Oh, come, do
come." She caught hold of Joan's hands. "It will be great, we shall be
together, and I will show you that there is fun in life; fun, and love,
and laughter."

She was laughing herself hysterically, her figure seemed poised as if
for an instant outbreak into the dance she spoke of. Joan watched her
with envious eyes. Fanny's philosophy in life was so plain to see. She
took things that came her way with eager hands; she seemed to pass
unscathed, unsullied, through the dregs of life and find mirth in the
dreariest surroundings. And to-day Landon had broken down one more
barrier of the pride which kept Joan's feet upon the pathway of
self-respect. Of what use were her ideals since they could not bring her
even one half hour's happiness? The road stretched out in front of her
empty and sunless.

These thoughts swept through her mind almost in the space of a second.
Then she rose quickly to her feet.

"I'll come, Fanny," she said; "it really amounts to turning my back on a
battle; still I will come."

CHAPTER XVIII

"To fill the hour--that is happiness: to fill
The hour and leave no crevice for repentance."

ANON.

"Daddy Brown, this is the girl I spoke to you about; will she do?"

That had been Joan's introduction to the manager of the Brown travelling
company. He was a large man, with his neck set in such rolls of fat that
quick movement was an impossibility. His eyes, small and surrounded by
a multitude of wrinkles, were bloodshot, but for all that excessively
keen. Joan felt as they swept over her that she was being appraised,
classed, and put aside under her correct value in the man's brain. His
hair, which in youth must have grown thick and curly, had fallen off
almost entirely from the top of his head, leaving a small island
sprouting alone in the midst of the baldness. This was known among the
company as "The Danger Mark," for when the skin round it flushed red a
fearful storm was brewing for somebody.

He sat in front of a table littered with papers, in a small, rather
dirty office, the windows of which opened on