"Come and sit by me, lovely doll," said Mrs. Bal, pulling the girl down beside her on the most cushiony and comfortable sofa. "So you are the baby! I haven't forgotten you. I've thought of you a _lot_--really a lot. But you never seemed _mine_, you know. _They_ wouldn't let me feel you belonged to me. They were so good! Of course I had to leave you for--for them to take care of. They thought they knew everything about babies. I dare say they were right. I _had_ to escape. I couldn't have lived with them another day, in that awful house. But I've been oh, _so_ proper, and good, really. Even they could have hardly been shocked. And I've hired three red-haired watch-dogs. But it isn't only myself I want to talk about--it's you. I do think you're the prettiest thing I ever saw--though I oughtn't to say so, perhaps, because I believe we're alike. Aren't we, Somerled?"
"In some ways, not in others," dryly returned the gentleman addressed.
"Oh, I know the differences are in her favour--Diogenes! All the more reason why I can't possibly own her for a daughter. My yearly profits would go down a hundred per cent. And although she's perfectly _darling_, and I'm going to love her--as a sister--she couldn't have come to me at a worse moment."
"Oh--why?" pleaded Barrie, speaking for the first time.
"Because--you may as well hear this, all of you, since I've called you to a council of war. I want you to realize"--and she gave each of us a look in turn: a lovely, characteristic "Mrs. Bal" look--"that I'm on my knees to you. I've thrown myself on your mercy. You've got to help me out. The truth is"--she began taking off her gloves and looking down at her own hands, her rings sparkling as the pink and white fingers were bared--"the truth is, I'm a little--a tiny little bit--tired of acting. I'd like to leave the stage in a blaze of glory while everybody wants me and there's no one to take my place. There's only one trouble--I'm so horribly extravagant. I always have been. I'm afraid I always shall be. I make heaps of money, but I can't save. If I say good-bye to the theatre, I shall want millions. I don't feel I can rub along on less. So that means--I shall have to marry somebody else's millions, for I haven't got the ghost of one of my own."