“You know why perfectly well. You reproduce her looks. I’m perfectly certain she’s dreading your first night. She’s afraid people will begin to think that extraordinary colourless charm she and you possess stagey. Besides, you have certain mannerisms—you don’t imitate her, Pimpernel?”
The pawnbroking expression was remarkably apparent for a moment in Mrs. Wolfstein’s eyes.
“I haven’t started to yet.”
“Yet?”
“Well, if she don’t ask me to number thirty-eight—‘tis thirty-eight?”
“Forty-two.”
“Forty-two Cadogan Square, I might be tempted. I came out as a mimic, you know, at Corsher and Byall’s in Philadelphia.”
Miss Schley gazed reflectively upon the brown carpet of Mrs. Wolfstein’s boudoir.
“Folks said I wasn’t bad,” she added meditatively.
“I think I ought to warn Viola,” said Mrs. Wolfstein.