re, in her dressing-room, at the Bijou Theater, she had told him the
story of her life since leaving her parents. It made her forget to ask
about Harrasford and the new theater which he was to open: was it ready?
The architect ought to know better than anybody. She would ask him
to-night. And Lily lay turning this over, in the morning, in bed,
notwithstanding her other cares, for she must get clear somehow, must see
the agents that afternoon. She had plenty to do beside her turn. She had
to busy herself with those thousand and one details.... She would never
have believed that it was so hard to fill her three years' book. Lily felt
half-dead with fatigue before she started:

"Let me sleep!" said Lily, stretching herself in the big double bed which
Glass-Eye had just left; "clear out! Let me sleep!"

But Glass-Eye made a rush at Lily, tickled her in the neck, stifled her
laughter under the pillow: it was a necessity for them in the morning,
those few minutes of horse-play, of thumps and smacks, which rang out on
every side. Lily, at last, full-throated, with fluttering nostrils, cried
out for mercy. The maid went off, Lily, now quite awake, remained alone,
and her worries returned: no more love, no more music, as at the theater,
no more purple rays, nothing but gloomy hours, a long day stretching out
before her like a gray corridor. It was real life now: letters to write,
costumes to mend, last night's tights to wash in the basin.... Lily,
sitting on the edge of her bed, took her purse from where she had hidden
it under the bolster--a habit she had acquired in marriage, because of
Trampy's nightly ferretings--and emptied it on the sheets: one blue
banknote; one, two, three gold coins. How much did that make in pounds,
shillings and pence? Hardly seven pounds. It was all in vain for her to
economize, like that Ma of a star, who counted the potatoes. It was all in
vain for her to stint in every way, to keep back Glass-Eye's wages for
over a year, saying that she would pay her in a lump: she would have
almost nothing left after the purchases which she had to make. It was true
that, to-morrow, she would receive her fortnight's pay; and she hoped for
a renewal. She felt sure of it, if only because of the way in which the
manager had taken her by the chin. Then a fortnight at the Brussels
Alhambra--1 November, Flora, Amsterdam--10 January, Copenhagen--and, for
the rest, her three years' book was empty and each empty page repres