am all good-humouredly, but
as if to say: "Well, here I am, and what do you want of me? Don't ask me
to invent it myself, but if you'll tell me I'll do it." Miriam admired
the note of discreet interrogation in her voice--the slight suggestion
of surprise at their "old house" being liked. This performer was an
astonishment from her seeming still more perfect on a nearer view--which
was not, the girl had an idea, what performers usually did. This was
very encouraging to her--it widened the programme of a young lady about
to embrace the scenic career. To have so much to show before the
footlights and yet to have so much left when you came off--that was
really wonderful. Mademoiselle Voisin's eyes, as one looked into them,
were still more agreeable than the distant spectator would have
supposed; and there was in her appearance an extreme finish which
instantly suggested to Miriam that she herself, in comparison, was big
and rough and coarse.

"You're lovely to-night--you're particularly lovely," Sherringham said
very frankly, translating Miriam's own impression and at the same time
giving her an illustration of the way that, in Paris at least, gentlemen
expressed themselves to the stars of the drama. She thought she knew her
companion very well and had been witness of the degree to which, in such
general conditions, his familiarity could increase; but his address to
the slim, distinguished, harmonious woman before them had a different
quality, the note of a special usage. If Miriam had had an apprehension
that such directness might be taken as excessive it was removed by the
manner in which Mademoiselle Voisin returned:

"Oh one's always well enough when one's made up; one's always exactly
the same." That served as an example of the good taste with which a star
of the drama could receive homage that was wanting in originality.
Miriam determined on the spot that this should be the way _she_ would
ever receive it. The grace of her new acquaintance was the greater as
the becoming bloom to which she alluded as artificial was the result of
a science so consummate that it had none of the grossness of a mask. The
perception of all this was exciting to our young aspirant, and her
excitement relieved itself in the inquiry, which struck her as rude as
soon as she had uttered it:

"You acted for 'me'? How did you know? What am I to you?"

"Monsieur Sherringham has told me about you. He says we're nothing
beside you--that you're to