d Biddy, recognising the allusion, the invitation to visit the actress
at home, had to explain how much she had been absent from London and
then even that her brother hadn't proposed to take her.

"Very true--he hasn't come himself. What's he doing now?" asked Miss
Rooth, standing near her young friend but looking at Nick, who had
immediately engaged in conversation with his other visitor, a gentleman
whose face came back to the girl. She had seen this gentleman on the
stage with the great performer--that was it, the night Peter took her to
the theatre with Florry Tressilian. Oh that Nick would only do something
of that sort now! This desire, quickened by the presence of the strange,
expressive woman, by the way she scattered sweet syllables as if she
were touching the piano-keys, combined with other things to make our
young lady's head swim--other things too mingled to name, admiration and
fear and dim divination and purposeless pride and curiosity and
resistance, the impulse to go away and the determination to (as she
would have liked fondly to fancy it) "hold her ground." The actress
courted her with a wondrous voice--what was the matter with the actress
and what did she want?--and Biddy tried in return to give an idea of
what Nick was doing. Not succeeding very well she was about to appeal to
her brother, but Miriam stopped her with the remark that it didn't
signify; besides, Dashwood was telling Nick something--something they
wanted him to know. "We're in a great excitement--he has taken a
theatre," Miriam added.

"Taken a theatre?" Biddy was vague.

"We're going to set up for ourselves. He's going to do for me
altogether. It has all been arranged only within a day or two. It
remains to be seen how it will answer," Miriam smiled. Biddy murmured
some friendly hope, and the shining presence went on: "Do you know why
I've broken in here to-day after a long absence--interrupting your poor
brother so basely, taking up his precious time? It's because I'm so
nervous."

"About your first night?" Biddy risked.

"Do you know about that--are you coming?" Miriam had caught at it.

"No, I'm not coming--I haven't a place."

"Will you come if I send you one?"

"Oh but really it's too beautiful of you!" breathed the girl.

"You shall have a box; your brother shall bring you. They can't squeeze
in a pin, I'm told; but I've kept a box, I'll manage it. Only if I do,
you know, mind you positively come!" She sounded it as the