"It's a Syndicate; nobody ever heard of it before. And the Tenor has such a cold he could hardly speak at the dress-rehearsal last night—goodness knows how he's going to sing to-morrow."
"Who is your principal woman?"
"She has backed out; they've put somebody else into the part at the last minute. And the scenery has still to come down—it's a bit of a muddle all round. I wish I could have got into a better thing, but I was so hard up—you ought to have seen where I was lodging! I tried to get 'shopped' last month as an Extra. That speaks!"
"An Extra? No? Tat! why didn't you write to me?" exclaimed Rosalind reproachfully.
"Oh, I don't know. I heard the 'great' Miss Hayward wanted thirty Extra-ladies to go on in the ball scene. It was twenty-five bob a week—she wanted picked women—it would just have done me. Lil Rayburn lent me her little squirrel coat and a black velvet hat. I tell you I looked a treat when I went down! There were three hundred and forty girls waiting; we were sent across the stage thirty at the time. The great Hayward sat in the stalls, with her pince-nez up. 'You!' she said, pointing; 'the one in the squirrel coat!' So I went to her. 'I think you'll do,' she drawled; 'you know what the money is?' 'Twenty-five, Miss Hayward,' I said, 'isn't it?' 'No, a guinea,' she said, 'it doesn't matter to you.' 'Thank you,' I said, 'I've got to keep myself out of my salary—I haven't got a man, and a flat!' Potter, the agent, was in an awful stew—'Oh, you shouldn't have spoken to Miss Hayward like that!' 'To hell!' I said."
"Cat!" cried Rosalind. "Because you were well-dressed?"
"Yes; and if I had gone shabby, she wouldn't have noticed me at all.... You know I've been in the Variety business since you saw me?"
"The music-halls! You haven't?"
"Straight! I was one of the Four Sisters Tarantelle. Jolly good money—I got five pounds a week when we worked two shows a night; I never got less than three ten. I can't get it on the stage."
"Why did you give them up? But the tips are very heavy, aren't they?"