The Tragic Muse. Henry James

him. There are lots of gentlemen on the stage—he's not the first."

      "It's such a comfort to hear that," said Mrs. Rooth.

      "I'm much obliged to you. Has he got a theatre?" Miriam asked.

      "My dear young lady, he hasn't even got an engagement," replied the young man's terrible brother-in-law.

      "He hasn't been at it very long, but I'm sure he'll get on. He's immensely in earnest and very good-looking. I just said that if he should come over to see us you might rather like to meet him. He might give you some tips, as my husband says."

      "I don't care for his looks, but I should like his tips," Miriam liberally smiled.

      "And is he coming over to see you?" asked Sherringham, to whom, while this exchange of remarks, which he had not lost, was going on, Mrs. Rooth had in lowered accents addressed herself.

      "Not if I can help it I think!" But Mr. Lovick was so gaily rude that it wasn't embarrassing.

      "Oh sir, I'm sure you're fond of him," Mrs. Rooth remonstrated as the party passed together into the antechamber.

      "No, really, I like some of the others—four or five of them; but I don't like Arty."

      "We'll make it up to him, then; we'll like him," Miriam answered with spirit; and her voice rang in the staircase—Sherringham attended them a little way—with a charm which her host had rather missed in her loudness of the day before.