Her companion listened to this rigmarole with an equivocal grin and when she gave it up merely remarked: “Don’t apologize. It’s the same with all the ladies. ’E fair rocks ’em. Talk about ’aving what it takes.”

“I don’t mean that at all,” she shouted angrily.

“You should see ’em clawing at each other to get at ’im rahnd the stage-door, first nights. Something savage! Females of the speeches? Disgrace to their sexes more like. There’s an ironing board etceterer in the wardrobe-room further along. You can plug in when you’re ready. ’Er royal ’ighness is over the way.”

He went out, opened a further door, switched on a light and called to her to join him. g>

As soon as she crossed the threshold of the star dressing-room she smelt greasepaint. The dressing-shelf was bare, the room untenanted, but the smell of cosmetics mingled with the faint reek of gas. There were isolated dabs of colour on the shelves and the looking-glass; the lamp-bulbs were smeared with cream and red where sticks of greasepaint had been warmed at them; and on a shelf above the wash-basin somebody had left a miniature frying-pan of congealed mascara in which a hair-pin was embedded.

It was a largish room, windowless and dank, with an air of submerged grandeur about it. The full-length cheval-glass swung from a gilt frame. There was an Empire couch, an armchair and an ornate stool before the dressing-shelf. The floor was carpeted in red with a florid pattern that use had in part obliterated. A number of dress-boxes bearing the legend Costumes by Pierrot et Cie were stacked in the middle of the room, and there were two suitcases on the shelf. A gas heater stood against one wall and there was a caged jet above the wash-basin.