The impression the latter first got of her was a pathetic one. She never forgot it. Mrs. Lambert was sitting up in bed. The small oval of her face was too pale for health, and her dark hair accentuated her look of fragility. On the dressing-table lay a rich copper-colored transformation.
"I hope you don't mind seeing me in bed," she said. "I hate keeping people waiting. It's so selfish. In my time I've sat on dress-baskets outside dressing-room doors waiting for hours till some selfish wretch took it into his head to see me, although he'd made an appointment and knew perfectly well I was there. I vowed I'd never treat any one in the same way. Sit down somewhere and tell me about yourself. What have you done?"
"Very little," Alexandra confessed. "I'm almost an amateur."
Mrs. Lambert made a wry face. "Not a moneyed one, I hope?"
"I've got forty pounds a year."
"Officer's daughter's pension?"
"Yes." Alexandra looked surprised. "How did you know?"
"I'm one myself. Officer's daughters can't do much when they're left stranded. They teach if they're ugly and sensible enough, and they go on the stage if they're sufficiently pretty and foolish. How long have you been at it?"
"Three months."
"And how long in an engagement?"