mother. She was a baroness, in Germany. That is she was the daughter of a baron."
Sherringham accepted this statement with reservations, but he replied: "Put all that together, and it makes you very sufficiently of Rachel's tribe."
"I don't care, if I'm of her tribe artistically. I'm of the family of the artists: je me fiche of any other! I'm in the same style as that woman; I know it."
"You speak as if you had seen her," said Sherringham, amused at the way she talked of "that woman."
"Oh, I know all about her; I know all about all the great actors. But that won't prevent me from speaking divine English."
"You must learn lots of verse; you must repeat it to me," Sherringham went on. "You must break yourself in till you can say anything. You must learn passages of Milton, passages of Wordsworth."
"Did they write plays?"
"Oh, it isn't only a matter of plays! You can't speak a part properly till you can speak everything else, anything that comes up, especially in proportion as it's difficult. That gives you authority."
"Oh, yes, I'm going in for authority. There's more chance in English," the girl added, in the next breath. "There are not so many others—the terrible competition. There are so many here—not that I'm afraid," she chattered on. "But we've got America, and they haven't. America's a great place."
"You talk like a theatrical agent. They're lucky not to have it as we have it. Some of them do go, and it ruins them."
