a month ago; the music she would receive by post; and the first rehearsal of the No.  I. Company would occur within a week or so.  Millicent walked in flowery paths.  She saw herself covered with jewels and compliments, flattered, adored, worshipped, and leading always a life of superb luxury.  And this prophetic dream was not the conception of a credulous fancy, but the product of the hard and calculating shrewdness which she possessed.  She was aware of the importance of Mr. Louis Lewis, who, on behalf of Lionel Belmont, absolutely controlled three West End theatres; and she was also aware of the effect which she had had upon him.  She knew that in her personality there was a mysterious something which intoxicated, not all the men with whom she came in contact, but most of them, and men of utterly different sorts.  She did not trouble to attempt any analysis of that quality; she accepted it as a natural phenomenon; and she meant to use it ruthlessly, for she was almost incapable of pity or gratitude.  It was, for instance, her intention to drop Harry; she had no further use for him now.  She was learning to forget her childish awe of Leonora:  a very little time, and she would implacably force her mother to recognise that even the semblance of parental control must cease.

‘And I am to have my photograph taken, mamma!’ she exclaimed triumphantly.  ’Mr. Lewis says that Antonios in Regent Street will be only too glad to take it for nothing.  He’s going to send them a line.’

Leonora was silent.  Deep in her heart she made a gesture of appeal to each of her daughters—­to Ethel who was immersed in love, to Rose who was absorbed by a vocation, and to this seductive minx whose venal lips would only smile to gain an end—­and each seemed to throw her a glance indifferent or preoccupied, and to say, ’Presently, presently.  When I can spare a moment.’  And she thought bitterly how Rose had been content to receive her mother in the public hall of the hospital.

* * * * *

They were late in arriving at the theatre because the cab could not get through Piccadilly, and Harry was impatiently expecting them in the foyer.  His brow smoothed at once when he caught sight of them, and he admired their dresses, and escorted them up the celebrated marble stairs with youthful pride.

‘I thought no one was going to supervene,’ he smiled.  ’I was afraid you’d all been murdered in patent asphyxiating hansoms.  I don’t know what’s happened to Twemlow.  I must leave word with the people here which box he’s to come to.’

‘Perhaps he won’t come,’ thought Leonora.  ’Perhaps I shall not see him till to-morrow.’