He offered his chair.
“It’s better than the one she’s given you,” he said graciously, “which ain’t sayin’ much. Sit down, Miss Denbigh. I guess you’ve come out here same as I have. I’m trying to see Mrs. Carter—Miss Fanchon la Fare, I guess it is now. This party”—he waved his thumb over his shoulder—“Mrs. Quantah, she says Mrs. Carter’s sick.”
“So I hear.” Virginia turned her eyes discreetly away. She could not look at Mr. Bernstein without thinking of his effort to engage her grandfather, and she wanted to laugh in spite of her errand. “I’m very sorry; I hope she’ll see me.”
“I hope so.” Mr. Bernstein leaned forward confidentially. “Say, I’ll tell you what I’ve done. You see, I felt kinder guilty. You know about that Carter boy? Well, I came out here on purpose to make good. I’m offering Miss Fanchon one thousand dollars a week for one big seven-reel feature for the Unlimited Film Company, and, after that, say, five hundred a week steady as ingenoo in the company.”
Virginia lifted her eyes with difficulty to the kindly red face opposite.
“That seems magnificent, Mr. Bernstein,” she said softly, and then in spite of herself she giggled.
Mr. Bernstein beamed.
“It’s a good offer, if I do say it! But, see here, Miss Denbigh, it ain’t often we get a subject like that. She’s just ideal for dances—see? Now, there’s another thing—coming out here, I made a find!” Mr. Bernstein raised one fat hand and spoke behind it, watching the door. “Notice that party—Mrs. Quantah?”
Virginia nodded, her eyes dancing. Mr. Bernstein edged his chair closer.
“Say! We’re going to do some Dickens pictures. No copyright on Dickens, you know, an’ it’s easy to get ’em. We’re going to do ‘Nicholas Nickleby.’ Now I ask you, did you ever see a better Miss Squeers? Look at her—take her all around—them angles an’ that mouth! Say, I’d give her something neat, believe me I would. I said so to her, an’ what d’you suppose she said to me? That woman, poor as Job’s turkey—what d’you suppose she said?”