"Voyons, my dear child, do you wish to work for the French stage or for the English?" the old actress demanded.
"Ours would have sore need of you, Miss Rooth," Sherringham gallantly threw off.
"Could you speak to any one in London—could you introduce her?" her mother eagerly asked.
"Dear madam, I must hear her first, and hear what Madame Carré says."
"She has a voice of rare beauty, and I understand voices," said Mrs. Rooth.
"Ah then if she has intelligence she has every gift."
"She has a most poetic mind," the old lady went on.
"I should like to paint her portrait; she's made for that," Nick Dormer ventured to observe to Mrs. Rooth; partly because struck with the girl's suitability for sitting, partly to mitigate the crudity of inexpressive spectatorship.
"So all the artists say. I've had three or four heads of her, if you would like to see them: she has been done in several styles. If you were to do her I'm sure it would make her celebrated."
"And me too," Nick easily laughed.