rfully upholstered nook, a nest of lamplight and
delicate cretonne. Save for its pair of long glasses it might have been
a tiny boudoir, with a water-colour drawing of value in each of its
panels of stretched stuff, with its crackling fire and its charming
order. It was intensely bright and extremely hot, singularly pretty and
exempt from litter. Nothing lay about, but a small draped doorway led
into an inner sanctuary. To Miriam it seemed royal; it immediately made
the art of the comedian the most distinguished thing in the world. It
was just such a place as they _should_ have for their intervals if they
were expected to be great artists. It was a result of the same evolution
as Mademoiselle Voisin herself--not that our young lady found this
particular term at hand to express her idea. But her mind was flooded
with an impression of style, of refinement, of the long continuity of a
tradition. The actress said, _"Voila, c'est tout!"_ as if it were little
enough and there were even something clumsy in her having brought them
so far for nothing, and in their all sitting there waiting and looking
at each other till it was time for her to change her dress. But to
Miriam it was occupation enough to note what she did and said: these
things and her whole person and carriage struck our young woman as
exquisite in their adaptation to the particular occasion. She had had an
idea that foreign actresses were rather of the _cabotin_ order, but her
hostess suggested to her much more a princess than a _cabotine_. She
would do things as she liked and do them straight off: Miriam couldn't
fancy her in the gropings and humiliations of rehearsal. Everything in
her had been sifted and formed, her tone was perfect, her amiability
complete, and she might have been the charming young wife of a secretary
of state receiving a pair of strangers of distinction. The girl observed
all her movements. And then, as Sherringham had said, she was
particularly lovely. But she suddenly told this gentleman that she must
put him _a la porte_--she wanted to change her dress. He retired and
returned to the foyer, where Miriam was to rejoin him after remaining
the few minutes more with Mademoiselle Voisin and coming down with her.
He waited for his companion, walking up and down and making up his mind;
and when she presently came in he said to her:

"Please don't go back for the rest of the play. Stay here." They now had
the foyer virtually to themselves.

"I