He looked closely at her. In the clearer light of day he saw that she was not only a much prettier girl than he had fancied the night before, but that she had more fire and character in her eyes and lips than he had imagined. And though she glanced at him with evident shyness as he came up, and the colour came into her cheeks as she gave him her hand, he was quick to see that she was going to say whatever it was that was in her mind. It was Brent's way to go straight to the point.
"You wanted to speak to me," he said, smiling again. "Fire away!—and don't be afraid."
The girl threw her book aside, and turned to him with obvious candour.
"I won't!" she exclaimed. "I'm not a bit afraid—though I don't know whatever you'll think of me, Mr. Brent, asking advice from a stranger in this barefaced fashion!"
"I've had to seek advice from strangers more than once in my time," said Brent, with a gentle laugh. "Go ahead!"
"It was knowing that you came from London," said Queenie. "You mightn't think it but I never met anybody before who came from London. And—I want to go to London. I will go!"
"Well," remarked Brent slowly, "if young people say they want to go to London, and declare that they will go to London, why, in my experience they end up by going. But, in your case, why not?"
The girl sat silent for a moment, staring straight in front of her at the blue smoke that circled up from the quaint chimney stacks of the town beneath the Castle. Her eyes grew dreamy.
"I want to go on the stage," she said at last. "That's it, Mr. Brent."
Brent turned and looked at her. Under his calm and critical inspection she blushed, but as she blushed she shook her head.