pathetically to
Cosgrave. "'E sit opposite to me and glare like a 'ungry tiger. Believe
me, I grow quite cold with fear. Tell me why you don't like me,
Monsieur?"

"He was only wanting to be asked," Cosgrave broke in with his high,
excited laugh. "Why, he introduced us. I was all down and out--couldn't
decide which bridge to chuck myself off from--and he lugged me into your
show. He said----"

"Well, what 'e say?"

Cosgrave blushed.

"He said: 'Let's see what going to the devil can do for you.'"

She jerked a jewelled thumb at him, appealing to Stonehouse.

"'E 'as cheek, that young man. 'E send in 'is card to my dressing-room,
saying 'e got to meet me. _Comme ca_! As though anyone could just walk
in! I was curious to see a young man with cheek like that. So I let 'im
come. _Et nous voila_!" She leant across to Stonehouse, speaking
confidentially, earnestly. "But you--_c'est autre chose_--_monsieur est
bien range_--an artist perhaps for all that--'e see me dance and think
perhaps, '_Voyons_--she cannot dance at all--nor sing--nor nozzings.
Just enjoy 'erself.' You think I don't deserve all I get, _hein_?"

"I think," said Stonehouse smiling, "that there are others in your
profession less fortunate, Mademoiselle."

As, for instance, that woman in the hospital--Frances Wilmot's protegee.
Queer how the memory of that ruined, frightened face peering over the
bed-clothes and begging for life should come back to him after eight
years. And yet the connexion was obvious enough. He looked at
Mademoiselle Labelle with a new interest. It was impossible that she
should have read his thoughts, but he knew by the little twist of her red
mouth that she had understood his insult. She seemed to ponder over it
dispassionately.

"That's true--_c'est bien vrai, ca_. I 'ave been lucky. I shall always
be lucky. Everybody knows that. They say: 'Our Gyp, she will 'ave a
good time at 'er funeral.' No, no. Monsieur Rufus, I will not drink.
If I drink I might dance--'ere on this table--and ze company is so ver'
respectable. Listen." She laid her hand on Stonehouse's arm as
unconsciously as though he had been an old friend. "Listen. They play
ze 'Gyp Gal-lop.' That is because I am 'ere. Ze conductor, 'e know
me--he like 'is leetle joke. _C'est drole_--every time I 'ear it played
I want to get up and dance and dance----" She hummed under her breath,
beating time with her cigarette.

"I'm Gyp Labelle;