Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. ’ ‘Melusine,’ repeated the old lady. The other was to go into business—into a photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired.
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