"Well, I was brought up to it," explained the girl hastily.
"I should feel as if I'd got no backbone."
"I couldn't keep up. I should flop."
"But you can wear some now if you like."
"That's exactly what I can't do. I tried once, quite seriously, and it made me ill—really ill—and I don't suppose it gets any easier to change one's habits as one gets older."
Mrs. Cuthbert flourished her hands despairingly.
"It's no go, my dear. Put the idea of the stage out of your head at once. No voice, no talents, no experience, no money, and no waist!"
A general cry of expostulation greeted this rather cruel résumé of poor Evarne's deficiencies.
"You've got a lovely face anyway, my dear," said Mr. Hal, "and you look to have a nice figure, whether you have really or not, if I may say as much. I think the old lady's advice is good, but you mustn't let your feelings be hurt."
"That's all right," declared the girl stoutly. "It's only too good of you to trouble about me at all, and you mustn't think me either vain or ungrateful if I say that I am still resolved to try my luck. I believe I could act, and I've never yet found my personal appearance a disadvantage to me; I expect that, even without corsets, I can manage to look as well as the average girl. I must start to earn money at once, that's sadly certain. I've been thinking over every other means, and none of them seem suitable, so if you would end up your kindness by giving me some hints as to how to get work on the stage at once I shall be infinitely obliged."