A Life Sentence. Sergeant Adeline
to him, but he could not recollect how or why. For the rest, Miss Cynthia West was a very well-dressed, stylish-looking young woman, neither fast nor shabby in her mode of attire; and the things that she wore served—intentionally or not—to set off her good looks to the best advantage. Hubert had seen her several times off and on the stage during the past few weeks since his return to England; she took none but minor parts, but was so remarkably handsome that she had begun to attract remark. He was a little surprised by her speech to him, and hardly thought she could be in earnest. In fact, he suspected her of a mere desire to attract his attention.
"I thought you were at the Frivolity?" he said.
"I have left the Frivolity," she answered abruptly. "This afternoon's engagement is the only one I have had for a fortnight; and I have nothing in prospect."
He gave her a keener look, and in spite of her brave bearing and her dainty clothes, he thought he perceived a slight pinching of the delicate features, a dark shade beneath the eyes which—if he remembered rightly—had not been there two months before. Was it possible that the girl was really in want? Could he put his hand into his pocket and offer her money? He might make the attempt at any rate.
"Can I be of any use to you—in this way?" he began, inserting two fingers into his waistcoat-pocket in a sufficiently significant manner.
He was aware of his mistake the next moment. An indignant flush spread over the girl's whole face; her eyes expressed such hurt surprise that Mr. Lepel felt rather ashamed of his suggestion.
"I did not ask you for money," said Miss West; "I asked if you could get me something to do." Then she turned away with a gesture which Hubert took for one of mere petulance, though the feeling that actuated it bordered more nearly on despair. "Oh," she said with a quick nervous irritation audible in her tone, "I thought that you would understand!"—and her beautiful dark eyes swam in tears.
They were still standing on the pavement, and at that moment two or three passers-by shouldered Hubert somewhat roughly, and stared at the girl to whom he was speaking. Hubert placed himself at her side.
"Come," he said—"Walk on a few paces with me, and make me understand what you want when we get to a quieter spot."
She bowed her head; it was evident that if she had spoken the tears would have fallen from her eyes. Hubert turned up the comparatively dark and quiet street in which stood the theatre that he had just visited; but for a few minutes he did not speak. At last he said in the soothing voice which was sometimes thought to be his greatest charm—
"Now will you make me understand? I beg your pardon for having offended you by my offer of help; I meant it in all kindness. You have not an engagement just now, you say?"
"It is not easy to get one," said the girl, with a quiver in her proud young voice. "It is not a good time, you know. I had two or three offers of engagements with provincial companies this autumn, but I refused them all because I had this one at the Frivolity. They were to give me two pounds a week; and it was considered a very good engagement. Besides, it was a London engagement, which I thought it better to take while I had the chance. But I have lost it now, and I don't know what to do."
"You know the first question one naturally feels inclined to put to you, Miss West, is, why did you leave the Frivolity?"
"I can't tell you the real reason," said the girl sharply. The color in her face seemed now to be concentrated in two flaming spots in her cheeks; her mouth was set, and her brow contracted over the brilliant eyes. "I quarrelled with the manager—that was all."
"Let me see—the manager is Ferguson, is he not? I know him."
"But he is not a friend of yours?" said Cynthia, turning towards him with a look of sudden dismay.
"Certainly not! He is the most confirmed liar I ever met," Hubert answered without a smile.
But he was a little curious in his own mind. From what he knew of Ferguson, he supposed it likely that the man had been making love to the young actress, that she had refused to listen to him, and that he had therefore dismissed her from the troupe. Such things had happened before, he knew, during Mr. Ferguson's reign; and the Frivolity did not bear the very best character in the world. With a girl of Cynthia West's remarkable beauty, it was pretty easy to guess the story, although the girl in her innocence thought that she was concealing it completely.
"He said that I was careless," Cynthia went on rapidly. "He changed the hour for rehearsal twice, and let everybody know but me; then I was fined, of course; and I complained, and then he said I had better go."
"What made you come to me?" said Hubert. "I am not a manager, you know."
"You have a great deal of influence," she said, rather more shyly than she had spoken hitherto.
"Very little indeed. Other people have much more. Why did you not try Gurney or Thomson or Macalister?"—mentioning names well known in the theatrical world.
"Oh, Mr. Lepel," said the girl, almost in a whisper, "you will think me so foolish if I tell you!"
"No, I sha'n't. Do tell me why!"
"Well"—still in a whisper—"it was because I read a story, that you had written—a tale about a girl called Amy Maitland—do you remember?"
"I ought to remember," said Hubert thoughtfully, "because I know I wrote it; but an author does not always recall his old stories very accurately, Miss West. It was a short tale for a Christmas number, I know. What was there in it that could cause you to honor me in this way, I wonder?"
"Ah, don't laugh at me, please, Mr. Lepel!" Cynthia's voice was so sweet in its entreating tones that Hubert thought he had never heard anything more musical. "It was all about a girl who was poor like me, and whose parents were dead, and about her adventures, you know—particularly about her not being able to get any work to do, and nearly throwing herself into the river. I have had the thought more than once lately that it would end with me in that way—the river looks so deep and silent and mysterious—doesn't it? But that's all nonsense, I suppose! However, when I read about Amy in the old Christmas number, that my landlady lent me the other night, it came to my mind that I had seen you behind the scenes, and that, if you could write in that way, you might be more ready—ready to help——" She stopped short, a little breathless after her long and tremulous speech.
"My poor child," said Hubert, with the tender accent that showed that he was moved, "I am afraid it does not always follow. However, let us take the most cheerful view possible of all things, even of novelists, and try to believe that they practise what they preach. It would be hard if I did not prove worthy of your confidence, Miss West. I am sure I don't know whether I will be able to do anything for you or not, but I will see."
"Thank you, Mr. Lepel."
She said the words very low, and drew a quick breath of relief as she said them. By the light of a gas-lamp under which they were passing at the moment Hubert saw that she had turned very pale. He halted suddenly.
"I am very thoughtless," he said, "not to recollect that you must be tired, and that I am perhaps taking you out of your way."
"No," said Cynthia simply; "I always go this way. I lodge at a boarding-house in the Euston Road."
"Then let us to business at once!" exclaimed Mr. Lepel, in a cheerful tone. "What sort of engagement do you want, Miss West?"
She was silent for a minute or two. Then she said, with some unusual timidity of manner—
"I should very much like to have an engagement at a place where I could sing."
"Sing!" repeated Hubert, arching his brows a little. "Can you sing? Have you a voice?"
"Yes," said Cynthia.
The audacity of the assertion took away Hubert's breath. He looked at her pityingly.
"My dear Miss West, are you aware that singing is a profession in itself, and requires a professional training, like other things?"
"Yes.