This was stated with such an imposing and benevolent air that Evarne waited expectant to hear in what manner she was to be recompensed for this unjustifiable delay.
"Yes, I can quite do away with any trouble of that nature. I shall give your address in Shamrock Street to the very next of our lady artistes who calls here, and she will doubtless come to see you. It is really too bad that you should have no society."
"It's decidedly worse that I should have no work, and, consequently no salary," retorted the girl as she turned away.
The manager remembered his promise, for a couple of days later Evarne's landlady announced that Miss Kennedy had called from Mr. Punter.
"Oh, show her in, and make tea for two, please," said the girl, and a minute later the visitor entered.
She was a slender little creature, barely eighteen years of age. In appearance she was one of those who seem to have been manufactured in wholesale batches. Her figure was practically identical with that of thousands of other girls, and her countenance likewise had very little that was at all distinctive. The grey eyes were—well, they were what Miss Kennedy looked around the world with, nothing more nor less! All her other features were equally nondescript. Her light hair, much frizzled in front and tied in a catagon behind, was neither dark nor fair, neither thin nor ample. The little face was not unattractive, but promised very average intelligence and no force of character. She bore not the least likeness to the popular conception of an actress. Her face was entirely free from the least artificial aid to beauty, while her plain serge coat and skirt, scarlet tam-o'-shanter and black cotton gloves were equally unpretentious.
As far as appearance went, she was in every way a contrast to beautiful, stately Evarne, with her aristocratic bearing, yet there was already a bond of sympathy between the two girls, and in less than five minutes they were forming a kind of duet to complain of the perfidious behaviour of the Punters.
"It's really perfectly scandalous," declared Jessie Kennedy. "They promised me the rehearsals were to begin ten days ago. They've got no right to get their company together—or almost together—like this, until they were really going to make a start. And to bring you all the way down from London too! I suppose they paid your fare?"
"Yes, they did that, or I couldn't have come. Still, it's a great shame. They must know people generally can't afford to live in idleness like this. Yet what can we do?"
"Well, I shall accept another engagement in a couple of days if they don't begin, and so I shall tell them."