The young man shook his head sadly.
"But my real lessons," Dorothy added, brightly, lest the loss of Mrs. Haden to art might be too much for the interviewer's emotions—"my real lessons were derived from watching famous actresses. No famous actress, continental or English, ever came to London whom I did not go to see. I often went without"—she paused to think what she could have gone without, for it might sound absurd to say that she went without clothes—"I often walked," she corrected herself, "in order to have the necessary money to buy a seat."
"That'll interest our readers very much," said the young man. "Yes, that's the personal note which always appeals to our readers." He sucked his pencil with relish. "And who is your favorite actress?"
"In England or abroad?"
"Oh, in England," the young man hurriedly explained; probably he was jibbing at the prospect of having to write a foreign name.
"In England, Ellen Terry, decidedly," Dorothy replied.
"Quite"; the young man sighed with relief. "Perhaps you would care to give me a photograph of yourself," he suggested.
"With pleasure," she said, taking from the mantelpiece one that she had sent her mother about a month ago.
"Of course," the interviewer hemmed, nervously, "that will be twelve and sixpence for the cost of reproduction."
"Twelve and six?" repeated Dorothy.