“I suppose what you’re driving at,” said the goaded Bill, “is that what has happened will make father pretty sore against girls who happen to be in the chorus?”

“That’s absolutely it, old thing, I’m sorry to say.  The next person who mentions the word chorus-girl in the jolly old governor’s presence is going to take his life in his hands.  I tell you, as one man to another, that I’d much rather be back in France hopping over the top than do it myself.”

“What darned nonsense!  Mabel may be in the chorus, but she isn’t like those girls.”

“Poor old Bill!” said Lucille.  “I’m awfully sorry, but it’s no use not facing facts.  You know perfectly well that the reputation of the hotel is the thing father cares more about than anything else in the world, and that this is going to make him furious with all the chorus-girls in creation.  It’s no good trying to explain to him that your Mabel is in the chorus but not of the chorus, so to speak.”

“Deuced well put!” said Archie, approvingly.  “You’re absolutely right.  A chorus-girl by the river’s brim, so to speak, a simple chorus-girl is to him, as it were, and she is nothing more, if you know what I mean.”

“So now,” said Lucille, “having shown you that the imbecile scheme which you concocted with my poor well-meaning husband is no good at all, I will bring you words of cheer.  Your own original plan—­of getting your Mabel a part in a comedy—­was always the best one.  And you can do it.  I wouldn’t have broken the bad news so abruptly if I hadn’t had some consolation to give you afterwards.  I met Reggie van Tuyl just now, wandering about as if the cares of world were on his shoulders, and he told me that he was putting up most of the money for a new play that’s going into rehearsal right away.  Reggie’s an old friend of yours.  All you have to do is to go to him and ask him to use his influence to get your Mabel a small part.  There’s sure to be a maid or something with only a line or two that won’t matter.”

“A ripe scheme!” said Archie.  “Very sound and fruity!”

The cloud did not lift from Bill’s corrugated brow.

“That’s all very well,” he said.  “But you know what a talker Reggie is.  He’s an obliging sort of chump, but his tongue’s fastened on at the middle and waggles at both ends.  I don’t want the whole of New York to know about my engagement, and have somebody spilling the news to father, before I’m ready.”

“That’s all right,” said Lucille.  “Archie can speak to him.  There’s no need for him to mention your name at all.  He can just say there’s a girl he wants to get a part for.  You would do it, wouldn’t you, angel-face?”

“Like a bird, queen of my soul.”

“Then that’s splendid.  You’d better give Archie that photograph of Mabel to give to Reggie, Bill.”

“Photograph?” said Bill.  “Which photograph?  I have twenty-four!”