Kitty looked from one to the other. “Is it—is it really and truly going to be?” she asked, tremulously.
“Leave it to Mr. Risk,” cried West in high delight.
“I think you may, Miss Carstairs,” Risk said with that amused look of his. “But don’t count on the fortune just yet. Still, I’ll make the best terms I can for you—”
“And Mr. West,” she put in quickly. “Please don’t think me ungrateful and horrid, Mr. Risk, but I don’t wish you to—to trouble about the play at all unless Mr. West promises—on paper, too—to take half the profits—if any.”
“Never!” shouted West, indignant.
“Goodness me,” said Hilda, interrupting her talk with Colin, “what on earth is the matter, Anthony?”
“Nothing, my dear,” replied her brother. “Merely Anthony’s little way of receiving a decent business proposition.” He turned to Kitty. “Never mind, Miss Carstairs; we three shall have a talk together later, and—”
Sharp came into the room with a note on a salver.
“Messenger boy brought it, sir; said it was immediate,” he murmured to his master, as he presented the salver to Kitty. “No answer, madam,” he said aloud, and retired.
Kitty had taken the note mechanically, but now as she sat staring at it, the colour ebbed from her face. The plain envelope was directed to her—in rather shaky writing—care of Miss Risk, 366 Long Acre; apparently Hilda’s servant had sent the messenger on to Aberdare Mansions.