"Yes, but I ought to change mine. I think I shall call myself Dorothy Lonsdale. Do you like that?"
"You've got a sister called Dorothy. Won't she be rather annoyed?"
Norah tried to think of another name, but she was confused by the noise of the typewriters, and at last she ejaculated, impatiently:
"Oh, bother, I must be Dorothy! I've always known it would suit me much better than her. I shouldn't mind if she called herself Norah. Besides, I sha'n't be Dorothy Caffyn, so what does it matter?"
They were told that their contracts would be handed to them at the rehearsal called for to-morrow morning at the Hungarian Artistes' Club, Lisle Street, Leicester Square.
"How easy it is, really," said Norah, when she and Lily were going down-stairs again, past the line of tired women still waiting to be admitted. "Though I thought his language was rather disgusting. Didn't you?"
"I didn't notice it," said Lily. "But you'll have to get used to bad language on the stage."
"I shall never get used to it," Norah vowed, with a disdainful glance at a particularly common-looking girl who, tossing the feathers in her hat like a defiant savage, called out:
"God! Flo, look at Mrs. Walter Keal coming down-stairs."
The girls round her laughed, and Norah hurried past angrily. She had been intending to patronize Lily; after that remark it was not so easy.