THE BETTER SORT
I do them wrong, and the people want such trash. Of course they'll sack me."
She was in the centre, and he had the effect of going round her, restless and vague, in large, slow circles. "Have you done them long?"
"Two or three months—this lot. But I've done others, and I know what happens. Oh, my dear, I've done strange things!"
"And is it a good job?"
She hesitated, then puffed, prettily enough, an indifferent sigh. "Three and ninepence. Is that good?" He had stopped before her, looking at her up and down. "What do you get?" she went on, "for what you do for a play?"
"A little more, it would seem, than you. Four and sixpence. But I've only done, as yet, that one. Nothing else has offered."
"I see. But something will, eh?"
Poor Straith took a turn again. "Did you like them—for colour?" But again he pulled up. "Oh, I forgot; we didn't notice them!"
For a moment they could laugh about it. "I noticed them, I assure you, in the Banner. 'The costumes in the second act are of the most marvellous beauty.' That's what I said."
"Oh, that will fetch the managers!" But before her again he seemed to take her in from head to foot. "You speak of 'using' things. If you'd only use yourself—for my enlightenment. Tell me all."
"You look at me," said Mrs. Harvey, "as with the wonder of who designs my costumes. How I dress on it, how I do even what I still do on it, is that what you want to know?"
"What has happened to you?" Straith asked.
"How do I keep it up?" she continued, as if she had not heard him. "But I don't keep it up. You do," she declared, as she again looked round her.
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