But time and time again Chrissie’s plans came to nothing simply through Stella’s natural inertia. If Chrissie had been born rapacious, Stella had been born happy.

Whatever happened, however much they were up against it, Stella remained the same. She simply did not know the meaning of the word ‘envy’ and she had never been jealous of anyone in her life. She had no ambitions whatsoever, and when she was out of a job it was doubtful if she could have ever had the sense to find another had it not been for Chrissie.

It was Chrissie who made her work, Chrissie who made her take trouble over her appearance, who reminded her to speak with a refined accent, who made her accept invitations. It was even Chrissie who forced Stella into keeping appointments with her various admirers who, having viewed her through their opera glasses from the front of the house, came hurrying round to the Stage Door when the performance was ended.

It was Chrissie who answered their notes, who wrote and thanked them for their flowers, and when there were a number of them, it was Chrissie who remembered which was which.

Not that Stella did not like having admirers, she did. She liked everybody!

She liked the smart, well turned out gentlemen with their private hansoms who waited for her at the Stage Door, but she liked equally well the men who moved the scenery, the boys who carried up the bouquets of flowers, the members of the orchestra and even the disagreeable, wizened old door keeper for whom nobody else had a good word.

It was not only men who found a place in her affections. She liked the girls with whom she acted, the wardrobe mistress, the dressers, the chars who cleaned out the theatre, and the smart, fluffy little programme sellers who would sometimes bring messages back stage. Stella like them all, in fact, as Chrissie used to say with exasperation, she would like the Devil himself if he turned up at the theatre.

Long ago Chrissie had really learned that it was useless to lecture Stella, but she really could not help doing it continually and unceasingly. From the moment the sisters got up in the morning to the moment they went to bed at night Chrissie’s high, sharp, bitter voice would be nattering at Stella like the yapping of a toy terrier. But nothing she said seemed to have the slightest effect.