“And—and there is a condition,” Carroll said, “which goes with the play. It is that Miss Cavendish is to have the part of Nancy.”
Wimpole looked serious and considered for a moment.
“Nancy,” he said, “the girl who interferes—a very good part. I have cast Miss Maddox for it in my mind, but, of course, if the author insists—”
Marion, with her elbows on the table, clasped her hands appealingly before her.
“Oh, Mr. Wimpole!” she cried, “you owe me that, at least.”
Carroll leaned over and took both of Marion’s hands in one of his.
“It’s all right,” he said; “the author insists.”
Wimpole waved his stick again as though it were the magic wand of the good fairy.
“You shall have it,” he said. “I recall your performance in ‘The New Boy’ with pleasure. I take the play, and Miss Cavendish shall be cast for Nancy. We shall begin rehearsals at once. I hope you are a quick study.”
“I’m letter-perfect now{,}” laughed Marion.