would make indulgent allowances for poor Madame Carre, patronising her
as an old woman of good intentions.

[*: 1890]

The play to-night was six months old, a large, serious, successful
comedy by the most distinguished of authors, with a thesis, a chorus
embodied in one character, a _scene a faire_ and a part full of
opportunities for Mademoiselle Voisin. There were things to be said
about this artist, strictures to be dropped as to the general quality of
her art, and Miriam leaned back now, making her comments as if they cost
her less, but the actress had knowledge and distinction and pathos, and
our young lady repeated several times: "How quiet she is, how
wonderfully quiet! Scarcely anything moves but her face and her voice.
_Le geste rare_, but really expressive when it comes. I like that
economy; it's the only way to make the gesture significant."

"I don't admire the way she holds her arms," Basil Dash wood said: "like
a _demoiselle de magasin_ trying on a jacket."

"Well, she holds them at any rate. I daresay it's more than you do with
yours."

"Oh yes, she holds them; there's no mistake about that. 'I hold them, I
hope, _hein_?' she seems to say to all the house." The young English
professional laughed good-humouredly, and Sherringham was struck with
the pleasant familiarity he had established with their brave companion.
He was knowing and ready and he said in the first _entr'acte_--they were
waiting for the second to go behind--amusing perceptive things. "They
teach them to be ladylike and Voisin's always trying to show that. 'See
how I walk, see how I sit, see how quiet I am and how I have _le geste
rare_. Now can you say I ain't a lady?' She does it all as if she had a
class."

"Well, to-night I'm her class," said Miriam.

"Oh I don't mean of actresses, but of _femmes du monde_. She shows them
how to act in society."

"You had better take a few lessons," Miriam retorted.

"Ah you should see Voisin in society," Peter interposed.

"Does she go into it?" Mrs. Rooth demanded with interest.

Her friend hesitated. "She receives a great many people."

"Why shouldn't they when they're nice?" Mrs. Rooth frankly wanted to
know.

"When the people are nice?" Miriam asked.

"Now don't tell me she's not what one would wish," said Mrs. Rooth to
Sherringham.

"It depends on what that is," he darkly smiled.

"What I should wish if she were my daughter," the old woman rejoined
blandly.

"Ah wish your d