"Don't believe she's a Jewess?" Biddy asked, still more interested in Miriam Rooth.
"No, no—that she's stupid, really. If she is, she'll be the first."
"Ah. you may judge for yourself," Nash rejoined, "if you'll come to-morrow afternoon to Madame Carré, Rue de Constantinople, à l'entresol."
"Madame Carré? Why, I've already a note from her—I found it this morning on my return to Paris—asking me to look in at five o'clock and listen to a jeune Anglaise."
"That's my arrangement—I obtained the favour. The ladies want an opinion, and dear old Carré has consented to see them and to give one. Gladys will recite something and the venerable artist will pass judgment."
Sherringham remembered that he had his note in his pocket, and he took it out and looked it over. "She wishes to make her a little audience—she says she'll do better with that—and she asks me because I'm English. I shall make a point of going."
"And bring Dormer if you can: the audience will be better. Will you come, Dormer?" Mr. Nash continued, appealing to his friend,—"will you come with me to see an old French actress and to hear an English amateur recite?"
Nick looked round from his talk with his mother and Grace. "I'll go anywhere with you, so that, as I've told you, I may not lose sight of you, may keep hold of you."
"Poor Mr. Nash, why is he so useful?" Lady Agnes demanded with a laugh.
"He steadies me, mother."
