After this she rose to leave. Amiably enough they insisted on lending her several books concerning the hero of their drama; a volume of his poems, one called "Burns's Highland Mary," another entitled "Burns's Chloris," and yet another about his "Clarinda." Evarne thought it very unromantic and unpoetical of "Bobbie" to have worshipped at the shrines of so many "ladye-loves," but was well pleased to be supplied with so much reading matter.
Still, while all this was very well in its way, it was not business! Days passed. Mr. Sandy and "Highland Mary" did not arrive, neither did Evarne see any of her other fellow-artistes. As time went on and no rehearsal-call was given, while the demands upon her purse were constant, she commenced to make frequent and anxious inquiries.
Mr. Punter was evidently as much concerned as she was herself.
"But it's no use my gathering the company together here until Mr. Sandy has arrived. You must see that for yourself. The whole play circles round him, as you know. We must all wait a day or two longer. I admit I cannot account for his unexplained neglect, and am much displeased."
Evarne saw nothing for it but to be patient and make the best of a bad job, but it was indeed a very seriously bad job in her case. She had been prepared to find it difficult to make her money last out until she received her first week's salary, and this delay over even commencing the rehearsals was really terrible.
She was lonely as well as anxious. She recommenced sketching, studied Burns and his poems, stared in the shop-windows, visited the Corporation Picture Gallery, read in the Free Library. Despite all this, time hung heavily on her hands.
"What do the remainder of your company do?" she inquired of Mr. Punter one morning, on being informed, as usual, that no news had been heard of Mr. Sandy. She had that hour been forced to produce another half-sovereign for her lodgings, and was seriously alarmed at her situation. "Are the others submitting to be kept fooling around earning nothing and having to spend money every day, as I am?"
"They realise that it's no fault of mine, Miss Stornway," answered Mr. Punter severely, "and they do not add to my worries by reproaching me, even indirectly."
"That's all very well," retorted Evarne tartly. "You say most of them have homes in Glasgow. In that case it's not the same expense for them that it is to me, and they have their friends and families also, while I'm alone."
"As far as that goes, I'll tell you what I can do—yes, and I will do it."