"Then you can't have heard much at all, my dear Alexander.

It's only lately, since MacConnell and his set have got hold of her, that she's come up.

Myself, I always knew she had it in her.

If we had one real critic in London--but what can one expect?
Do you know, Alexander,"-- Mainhall looked with perplexity up into the top of the hansom and rubbed his pink cheek with his gloved finger,--"do you know, I sometimes think of taking to criticism seriously myself.

In a way, it would be a sacrifice; but, dear me, we do need some one." Just then they drove up to the Duke of York's, so Alexander did not commit himself, but followed Mainhall into the theatre.