“A great deal—­he was quite enthusiastic—­for him, you know.”

“I wonder what he is like,” she murmured with her large, sweet seriousness.  “Is he married, and has he any children?”

“I didn’t investigate.  You see I was more interested in my own affairs.  He wants Katie Hanska to take the leading part.  You may have seen her picture—­it was in one of the magazines I brought you.”

“Did you enquire anything about her?” she asked earnestly, “I mean about her character and her bringing up.  I couldn’t bear to have the part played by any but a pure woman, and they tell me that so many actresses aren’t—­aren’t quite that.  Before you consent I hope you’ll find out very particularly about the life she has led.”

“Oh, I dare say she’s all right,” he remarked, with the affectionate patience which was one of his more amiable characteristics.  “At any rate she has the mettle for the role.”

“I hope she’s good,” said his mother softly, and she added after a moment, “do you remember that poor Christina Coles I was telling you about not long ago?”

“Why, yes,” replied Trent; “the pretty girl with the blue eyes and the uncompromising manner?  What’s become of her, I wonder?”

“I fear,” began his mother, while she lowered her voice and glanced timidly around as if she were on the point of a shameful disclosure, “I honestly fear that she is starving.”

“Starving!” exclaimed St. George, in horror, and he sprang to his feet as if he meant to plunge at once into a work of rescue.  “Why, how long has she been about it?”

“I know she has stopped coming to see me because her clothes are so shabby,” returned Mrs. Trent, with what seemed to him a calmness that was almost cruel, “and the charwoman tells me that she lives on next to nothing—­a loaf of baker’s bread and a bit of cheese for dinner.  It takes all the little money she can rake and scrape together to pay her room rent—­for it seems that the papers have stopped publishing her stories.”

“For God’s sake, let’s do something—­let’s do it quickly,” exclaimed Trent, in an agony of sympathy.

“I was just thinking that you might run up and see if she would come down to dine with us,” said the old lady; “it really makes me miserable to feel that she doesn’t get even enough to eat.”

“Why, I’ll go before I dress—­I’ll go this very minute,” declared the young man.  “Shall I tell her that we dine in half an hour or do you think, if she’s so very hungry, you might hurry it up a bit?”

“In half an hour—­she’ll want a little time,” replied his mother, and she added presently, “but she’s so proud, poor thing, that I don’t believe she’ll come.”

The words were said softly, but had they been spoken in a louder tone, Trent would not have heard them for he had already hastened from the room.

In response to his knock, Christina opened her door almost immediately, and when she recognised him a look of surprise appeared upon her face.