She was half-way home before she realized that the conversation that she had plucked up such courage to initiate had ended unsatisfactorily for her, and she was as far away from her small part as ever.
CHAPTER III
THE NIECE
Adele Leamington occupied a small room in a small house, and there were moments when she wished it were smaller, that she might be justified in plucking up her courage to ask from the stout and unbending Mrs. Watson, her landlady, a reduction of rent. The extras on Jack Knebworth’s lot were well paid but infrequently employed; for Jack was one of those clever directors who specialized in domestic stories.
She was dressing when Mrs. Watson brought in her morning cup of tea.
“There’s a young fellow been hanging round outside since I got up,” said Mrs. Watson. “I saw him when I took in the milk. Very polite he was, but I told him you weren’t awake.”
“Did he want to see me?” asked the astonished girl.
“That’s what he said,” said Mrs. Watson grimly. “I asked him if he came from Knebworth, and he said no. If you want to see him, you can have the use of the parlour, though I don’t like young men calling on young girls. I’ve never let theatrical lodgings before, and you can’t be too careful. I’ve always had a name for respectability and I want to keep it.”
Adele smiled.
“I cannot imagine anything more respectable than an early morning caller, Mrs. Watson,” she said.
She went downstairs and opened the door. The young man was standing on the side-walk with his back to her, but at the sound of the door opening he turned. He was good-looking and well-dressed, and his smile was quick and appealing.