According to your description
of it, it must be a--"
"I went there because I was broke," said Matthew.
"Razzle?"
Matthew nodded.
"Pretty stiff, that!" commented Cyril, when Matthew had narrated
the prologue to Frensham's.
"Well, she absolutely swore she never took less than two hundred
francs. And she looked it, too! And she was worth it! I had the
time of my life with that woman. I can tell you one thing--no more
English for me! They simply aren't in it."
"How old was she?"
Matthew reflected judicially. "I should say she was thirty." The
gaze of admiration and envy was upon him. He had the legitimate
joy of making a second sensation. "I'll let you know more about
that when I come back," he added. "I can open your eyes, my
child."
Cyril smiled sheepishly. "Why can't you stay now?" he asked. "I'm
going to take the cast of that Verrall girl's arm this afternoon,
and I know I can't do it alone. And Robson's no good. You're just
the man I want."
"Can't!" said Matthew.
"Well, come into the studio a minute, anyhow."
"Haven't time; I shall miss my train."
"I don't care if you miss forty trains. You must come in. You've
got to see that fountain," Cyril insisted crossly.
Pages:
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765