"Nonsense: I'd rather have you than anyone else I can think of just now, because you're pretty, and pretty women help a play a lot; and the man who's putting this piece on would rather have you because he'll get you for less money than he'd have to pay an actress of experience. So, if you make good, all hands will be pleased."
"Shall I begin to study now?" Joan asked, offering to take the manuscript.
"Not necessary. Your part will be given you when the first rehearsal is called. I merely want to refresh my memory, to see how much you'll have to do."
He ran hastily through the pages.
"As I thought: you are on at the opening for about ten minutes, and near the end of the act for a two-minute scene. Twelve minutes' work a day for, say, twenty-five dollars a week: that isn't bad. You'll be out of the theatre by half-past nine every night.... You see the point I've been trying to make?"
"Yes," Joan assented. "It seems very easy. I hope I can do it."
"I'm sure you can," said Matthias. "But—how are you going to live between now and the opening?"
Joan's eyes were blank.
"Have you any money?" he insisted.
"A very little," she faltered—"eighteen dollars—"