paradoxical young man. "Pray, should you think it better for a gentleman to be an actor?"
"Better than being a politician? Ah, comedian for comedian, isn't the actor more honest?"
Lady Agnes turned to her son and exclaimed with spirit: "Think of your great father, Nicholas!"
"He was an honest man; that perhaps is why he couldn't stand it."
Peter Sherringham judged the colloquy to have taken an uncomfortable twist, though not wholly, as it seemed to him, by the act of Nick's queer comrade. To draw it back to safer ground he said to this personage: "May I ask if the ladies you just spoke of are English—Mrs. and Miss Rooth: isn't that the rather odd name? "
"The very same. Only the daughter, according to her kind, desires to be known by some nom de guerre before she has even been able to enlist."
"And what does she call herself?" Bridget Dormer asked.
"Maud Vavasour, or Edith Temple, or Gladys Vane—some rubbish of that sort."
"What, then, is her own name?"
"Miriam—Miriam Rooth. It would do very well and would give her the benefit of the prepossessing fact that (to the best of my belief, at least) she is more than half a Jewess."
"It is as good as Rachel Felix," Sherringham said.
"The name's as good, but not the talent. The girl is magnificently stupid."
"And more than half a Jewess? Don't you believe it!" Sherringham exclaimed.
