"I must say, if it's to be our theatre I'm relieved. 1 think it's safer," the good lady continued.
"Ours is dangerous, no doubt."
"You mean you are more severe," said the girl.
"Your mother is right," the actress smiled; "you have ideas."
"But what shall we do then—how shall we proceed?" Mrs. Rooth inquired. She made this appeal, plaintively and vaguely, to the three gentlemen; but they had collected a few steps off and were talking together, so that it failed to reach them.
"Work—work—work!" exclaimed the actress.
"In English I can play Shakespeare. I want to play Shakespeare," Miriam remarked.
"That's fortunate, as in English you haven't any one else to play."
"But he's so great—and he's so pure!" said Mrs. Rooth.
"That also seems very fortunate for you," Madame Carré phrased.
"You think me actually pretty bad, don't you?" the girl demanded, with her serious face.
"Mon Dieu, que vous dirai-je? Of course you're rough; but so was I, at your age. And if you find your voice it may carry you far. Besides, what does it matter what I think? How can I judge for your English public?"
"How shall I find my voice?" asked Miriam Rooth.
"By trying. Il n'y a que ça. Work like a horse, night and day. Besides, M. Sherringham, as he says, will help you."
Sherringham, hearing his name, turned round, and the girl appealed to him. "Will you help me, really?"
