"I can't tell you the real reason," said the girl sharply. The color in her face seemed now to be concentrated in two flaming spots in her cheeks; her mouth was set, and her brow contracted over the brilliant eyes. "I quarrelled with the manager—that was all."
"Let me see—the manager is Ferguson, is he not? I know him."
"But he is not a friend of yours?" said Cynthia, turning towards him with a look of sudden dismay.
"Certainly not! He is the most confirmed liar I ever met," Hubert answered without a smile.
But he was a little curious in his own mind. From what he knew of Ferguson, he supposed it likely that the man had been making love to the young actress, that she had refused to listen to him, and that he had therefore dismissed her from the troupe. Such things had happened before, he knew, during Mr. Ferguson's reign; and the Frivolity did not bear the very best character in the world. With a girl of Cynthia West's remarkable beauty, it was pretty easy to guess the story, although the girl in her innocence thought that she was concealing it completely.
"He said that I was careless," Cynthia went on rapidly. "He changed the hour for rehearsal twice, and let everybody know but me; then I was fined, of course; and I complained, and then he said I had better go."
"What made you come to me?" said Hubert. "I am not a manager, you know."
"You have a great deal of influence," she said, rather more shyly than she had spoken hitherto.
"Very little indeed. Other people have much more. Why did you not try Gurney or Thomson or Macalister?"—mentioning names well known in the theatrical world.
"Oh, Mr. Lepel," said the girl, almost in a whisper, "you will think me so foolish if I tell you!"