But she looked at the Boudoir advertisement every day. And it was not long before she saw that another venture was in preparation. And she held more skeins of wool, and watched with veiled eagerness this advertisement develop like its predecessor. Recently the play had been; produced, and she had read the notice in Mrs. Kincaid's presence. When she finished it she guessed that Carew's hopes were over; unless he had a great deal more money than she supposed, the experiment at the Boudoir would see; it exhausted. There was not much said for his performance, either; he was dismissed in an indifferent sentence, like his wife. High praise of his acting might have led to London engagements, but his hopes seemed to have miscarried as manager and as actor too.
When Kincaid went round to the house one evening, the servant told him his mother had; gone to her room, and that Miss Brettan was sitting with her.
"Say I'm here, please, and ask if I may go up." Mary came down the stairs as he spoke.
"Ah, doctor," she said; "Mrs. Kincaid has gone to bed."
"So I hear. What's the matter with her?"
"Only neuralgia; she has had it all day. She has just fallen asleep."
"Then I had better not go up to see her?"
"I don't think I would. I have just come down to get a book."
"Are you going to sit with her?"
"Yes; she may wake and want something."