The ordeal that the debutante had now to undergo was, of course, made remarkably easy for her through the intervention of this good friend of hers.  When they got down to the theatre they went at once on to the stage, where Nina found herself in the midst of an old-fashioned English village, with a gayly bedecked Maypole just behind her, while in front of her was the great, gaunt, empty, musty-smelling building, filled with a dim twilight, though, also, there were here and there one or two orange-points of gas.  Lionel sent a messenger to the manager’s office, and also told him to ask if Mr. Carey had come; then he opened Nina’s roll of music for her, and began to discuss with her which piece she should choose.  Fortunately Mr. Lehmann had not yet left—­here he was—­a stout, clean-shaven, sharp-eyed sort of person, in a frock-coat and a remarkably shiny hat; he glanced at the young lady in what she considered a very rude and unwarrantable manner, but the fact was he was merely, from a business point of view, trying to guess what her figure was like.  Lionel explained all the circumstances of the case to him, and gave it as his own confident opinion that, as soon as they had heard Mlle. Rossi sing, there would be little doubt of her being engaged.  At the same moment Mr. Carey appeared—­a tall, blond, extremely handsome person of the fashion-plate sort; and, at a word from the manager, two or three scene-shifters went and wheeled on to the stage a small upright piano.

Nina did not seem at all disconcerted by their business-like air and want of little formal politenesses.  Quite calmly she took out “Caro nome " from her music and handed it to the conductor, who was at the piano.  He glanced at the sheet, appeared a little surprised, but struck the opening chords for her.  Then Nina sang; and though for a second or two the sound of her own voice in this huge, empty building seemed strange—­seemed wrong almost and unnatural—­she had speedily recovered confidence, and was determined she would bring no discredit upon her friend Leo.  Very well indeed she sang, and Lionel was delighted; while, of course, Mr. Carey was professionally interested in hearing for the first time a voice so fresh and pure and so perfectly trained; but when she had finished the manager merely said,

“Thank you, that will do; I needn’t trouble you further.”  Then, after a word or two, partly aside, with Mr. Carey, he turned to Lionel and abruptly asked what salary she wanted—­just as if Lionel had brought him some automaton and made it work.

“I think you ought to give her a very good salary,” the young man said, in an undertone; “she has studied under Pandiani at Naples.  And if I were you I wouldn’t ask her to sing in the chorus at all; I would rather keep a voice like that fresh and unworked until she is fit to take a part.”

“Singing in the chorus won’t hurt her,” said he, briefly, “for a while, at least, and she’ll become familiar with the stage.”