Indeed, the manager is more often the pursued than the pursuer.  Women there are, attractive, well-looking, well-dressed, some of whom, alas! in their determination to succeed, cast morality overboard, as an aeronaut casts over ballast, that they may rise more quickly.  Now while these women bestow their adulation and delicate flattery upon the manager, he is not likely to disturb the modest and retiring newcomer in his company by unwelcome attentions.  And should the young stranger prove earnest and bright, she would be doubly safe; for then she would have for the manager a commercial value, and he would be the last man to hurt or anger her by a too warmly expressed admiration, and so drive her into another theatre, taking all her possible future popularity and drawing power with her.

One other and better word I wish to add.  If the unprotected young beginner finds herself the victim of some odious creature’s persistent advances, letters, etc., let her not fret and weep and worry, but let her go quietly to her manager and lay her trouble before him, and, my word for it, he will find a way of freeing her from her tormentor.  Yes, the manager is, generally speaking, a kindly, cheery, sharp business man, and no Moloch at all.

As for the “public,” no self-respecting girl need be in danger from the “public.”  Admiring young rakes no longer have coaches waiting round the corner, into which they thrust their favourite actress as she leaves the theatre.  If a man sends an actress extravagant letters or flowers, anonymously, she can of course do nothing, but equally of course she will not wear his flowers and so encourage him boldly to step up and speak to her some day.  If the gentleman sends her jewellery or valuable gifts of any kind, rest assured his name will accompany the offering; then the actress has but one thing to do, send the object back at once.  If the infatuated one is a gentleman and worthy of her notice, he will surely find a perfectly correct and honourable way of making her acquaintance, otherwise she is well rid of him.  No, I see no danger threatening a young actress from the “public.”

There is danger in drifting at any time, so it may be well to warn young actresses against drifting into a too strong friendship.  No matter how handsome or clever a man may be, if he approaches a modest girl with coarse familiarity, with brutalities on his lips, she is shocked, repelled, certainly not tempted.  But let us say that the young actress feels rather strange and uncomfortable in her surroundings, that she is only on a smiling “good morning and good evening” footing with the company, and she has been promised a certain small part, and then at the last moment the part is given to some one else.  The disappointment is cruel, and the suspicion that people are laughing in their sleeves over the slight put upon her makes her feel sick and faint with shame, and just then a friendly hand places a chair for her and a kind voice says:  “I’m awfully sorry you missed that chance, for I’m quite sure you would do the part far and away better than that milliner’s block will.  But don’t distress yourself, your chance will come, and you will know how to make the most of it—­I am sure.”