"To be honest: to be kind:
To earn a little—and to spend a little less."
One day when she had got home early from rehearsal, and was spending some rapturous moments over the adored silken head asleep on its pillow, Mrs. Print came to her very much en déshabille, her head wrapped in a towel, full of excitement.
"There's a gentleman at the front door, knocking," she said; "and, oh, ma'am, Mrs. Chard would you be so kind as to open it? As sure as I wash my 'ead, it always 'appens so!"
Poppy, good-naturedly, complied, giving a switch of her eye at a mirror first, for vanity was far from being dead in her yet. She opened the door to—Charles Bramham!
Pale with amazement, she stood glimmering at him through her hair.
"You!" she cried; then held out her hands in welcome, for welcome he truly was, with the smell and burn of Africa on him.
"Yes; me! I bet you didn't think I'd have the cheek to come and find you out. I had a great time digging your address out of Miss Drake. But why should you hide? Mayn't I come in?"
"Of course," she said, and led the way; but her manner was a little constrained. It had not been on her programme at all to let Charles Bramham, or any other man, into the secret of her life.
"What do you want?" she asked half crossly, when they were in the sitting-room.