ill waiting! And
Tom? Tom was in England now, in the De Frece circuit; had had a triumph at
the Portsmouth Hippodrome, as "Topsy Turvy Tommy," dancing a sailor's
hornpipe on his hands. All, all were successful, including others even who
were not so good as she was: one who obtained engagements because she had
a nigger in her show; another because of a monkey.

"And I've done nothing yet!" grumbled Lily.

Oh, to be talked about in her turn, to achieve something, to become "our
Lily!"

"It's twelve o'clock and I'm still in bed!" she cried. "I ought to be
practising!"

It was just a flash of pride, mixed with remorse. She knew it well enough;
often and often, she had reproached herself for her idleness, for her
habit of sleeping till the middle of the day, of taking her meals before
the performance; but she would make up for it to-morrow! It is the usual
refrain of stars who have become detached from their troupes, far removed
from regimental discipline, so to speak: without a Pa, without a boss, you
can do nothing. You must have some one to force you.

"A month on the three years' book before to-night!" prayed Lily, touching
her lucky charm.

And she studied the omens with an expert air, gave an ear to passing
sounds, tried to catch the meaning of them, for she had visits to pay,
letters to write, business, damn it!

That was what Pa used to say before her. And it was not so easy to turn a
letter prettily: that was Trampy's forte. She knew something about it.
Lily, in her night-dress, with her elbows on the table, bit her pen,
reflected, in a mental effort that gave her a headache. And that
note-paper wasn't nice, either, without a heading; true, it only rested
with herself; every day she was approached with offers of artistic
photographs, even of tricks which she did not do: standing with one foot
on the saddle, the other in the air and her arms stretched out before her,
like a flying genius; or as Cupid, with his dart in his hand: impossible
things which neither the Pawnees nor Laurence would have dared to attempt!
But it would look well, with her name in red letters: "Miss Lily," or "La
Belle Lily." Or else a photograph showing her strolling in a great park,
with a palace in the background, taken from nature, followed by her maid,
or by a footman, hired by the hour, for the occasion.

"I think I shall select the governess," said Lily to herself, "because of
my biography; it will be nicer, truer. Or I might be