"Georgie"
"She can, indeed." I spoke with emphasis, as Drusilla's husband.
Opening softly the sitting-room door, I started as I peeped in. Miss Fitzgerald was crouched on the hearth-rug, her head on Drusilla's knee. Drusilla's eyes were full of indignant sympathy, and both had been crying. I closed the door again softly, but Drusilla called me.
"Come in, Martin! Oh, it is a shame, a shame! You mustn't mind him Dolly. She wants me to call her Dolly," quickly reading my thought, "every one does, she says."
Dolly stayed where she was, and sobbed audibly.
"Martin, she says this kind of thing often happens in—in the profession. She says these men get a company together, give one performance, and clear off in the night with the money. She says she thought this would be genuine because the man called it his 'Number 2' Company. She has the advertisement. May I show it to my husband, Dolly?"
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