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since you’ve been to church or confession or whatever it is? Ages. Then why stick at this?”
    “It’s my church sticking to me. Bits of it always stick. I’d feel I was wallowing in sin, darling, truthfully I would.”
    “Well, wallow. You’d get used to it.”
    “Oh, Hailey!” She broke out into soft laughter, that warm soft laughter that ran like gold through every part she played.
    “Don’t!” said Hambledon. “Don’t!”
    “I’m so sorry, Hailey. I am a pig. I do adore you, but darling I can’t — I simply can’t live in sin with you. Living in sin. Living in sin,” chanted Carolyn dreamily.
    “You’re hopeless,” said Hambledon. “Hopeless!”
    “Miss Dacres, please,” called a voice in the passage.
    “Here!”
    “We’re just coming to your entrance, please, Mr. Gascoigne says.”
    “I’ll be there,” said Carolyn. “Thank you.”
    She got up at once.
    “You’re on in a minute, darling,” she said to Hambledon.
    “I suppose,” said Hambledon with a violence that in spite of himself was half whimsically-rueful, “I suppose I’ll have to wait for Alf to die of a fatty heart. Would you marry me then, Carol?”
    “What is it they all say in this country? ‘
Too right.
’
Too right
I would, darling. But, poor Pooh! A fatty heart! Too unkind.” She slipped through the door.
    A moment or two later he heard her voice, pitched and telling, as she spoke her opening line.
    “ ‘Darling, what do you think! He’s asked me to marry him!’ ” And then those peals of soft warm laughter.

Chapter IV
FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE TIKI
    The curtain rose for the fourth time. Carolyn Dacres, standing in the centre of the players, bowed to the stalls, to the circle and, with that friendly special smile, to the gallery. One thousand pairs of hands were struck together over and over again, making a sound like hail on an iron roof. New Zealand audiences are not given to cheering. If they are pleased they sit still and clap exhaustively. They did so now, on the third and final performance of
Ladies of Leisure
. Carolyn bowed and bowed with an air of enchanted deprecation. She turned to Hailey Hambledon, smiling. He stepped out of the arc and came down to the footlights. He assumed the solemnly earnest expression of all leading actors who are about to make a speech. The thousand pairs of hands redoubled their activities. Hambledon smiled warningly. The clapping died away.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” began Hambledon reverently, “Miss Dacres has asked me to try and express something of our—” he looked up to the gallery— “our gratitude, for the wonderful reception you have given the first play of our short”—he looked into the stalls—“our all
too
short season in your beautiful city.” He paused. Another tentative outbreak from the audience. “This is our first visit to New Zealand, and Middleton is the first town we have played. Our season in this lovely country of yours is, of necessity, a brief one. We go on to — to—” he paused and turned helplessly to his company. “Wellington,” said Carolyn. “To Wellington,” said Hambledon, smiling apologetically. The audience laughed uproariously. “To Wellington, on Friday. To-morrow, Wednesday, and Thursday we play
The Jack Pot
, a comedy which we had the honour of presenting at the Criterion Theatre in London. Most of the original cast is still with us, and, in addition, three well-known Australian artists have joined us for this piece. May I also say that we have among us a New Zealand actress who returns to her native country after a distinguished career on the London stage — Miss Susan Max.” He turned to old Susan, who gave him a startled look of gratitude. The audience applauded vociferously. Old Susan, with shining eyes, bowed to the house and then, charmingly, to Hambledon.
    “Miss Dacres, the company, and I, are greatly moved by the marvellous welcome you have given us. I–I may be giving away a secret, but I am going