h is
father's better nature?"

"You may not know it," said Miss Pinnegar coldly, "and if so, I can
never tell you. But that doesn't alter it." She lapsed into dead
silence for a moment. Then suddenly she broke out, vicious and cold:
"He'll go on till he's killed himself, and _then_ he'll know."

The little adverb _then_ came whistling across the space like a
bullet. It made Alvina pause. Was her father going to die? She
reflected. Well, all men must die.

She forgot the question in others that occupied her. First, could
she bear it, when the Endeavour was turned into another cheap and
nasty film-shop? The strange figures of the artistes passing under
her observation had really entertained her, week by week. Some weeks
they had bored her, some weeks she had detested them, but there was
always a chance in the coming week. Think of the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras!

She thought too much of the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras. She knew it. And she
tried to force her mind to the contemplation of the new state of
things, when she banged at the piano to a set of dithering and
boring pictures. There would be her father, herself, and Mr. May--or
a new operator, a new manager. The new manager!--she thought of him
for a moment--and thought of the mechanical factory-faced persons
who _managed_ Wright's and the Woodhouse Empire.

But her mind fell away from this barren study. She was obsessed by
the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras. They seemed to have fascinated her. Which of
them it was, or what it was that had cast the spell over her, she
did not know. But she was as if hypnotized. She longed to be with
them. Her soul gravitated towards them all the time.

Monday passed, and Ciccio did not come: Tuesday passed: and
Wednesday. In her soul she was sceptical of their keeping their
promise--either Madame or Ciccio. Why should they keep their
promise? She knew what these nomadic artistes were. And her soul was
stubborn within her.

On Wednesday night there was another sensation at the Endeavour. Mr.
May found James Houghton fainting in the box-office after the
performance had begun. What to do? He could not interrupt Alvina,
nor the performance. He sent the chocolate-and-orange boy across to
the Pear Tree for brandy.

James revived. "I'm all right," he said, in a brittle fashion. "I'm
all right. Don't bother." So he sat with his head on his hand in the
box-office, and Mr. May had to leave him to operate the film.

When the interval arrived, Mr. May hurried to