I examined the photograph still more closely. It displayed a lady of
twenty or thereabouts, with a weak face, small, vacant features, a
feeble chin, a good-humoured, simple mouth, and a wealth of golden hair
that seemed to strike a keynote.

"In the theatrical profession?" I inquired at last, looking up.

He hesitated. "Well, not exactly," he answered.

I pursed my lips and blew a ring. "Music-hall stage?" I went on,
dubiously.

He nodded. "But a girl is not necessarily any the less a lady because
she sings at a music-hall," he added, with warmth, displaying an evident
desire to be just to his betrothed, however much he admired Daphne.

"Certainly not," I admitted. "A lady is a lady; no occupation can in
itself unladify her.... But on the music-hall stage, the odds, one must
admit, are on the whole against her."

"Now, THERE you show prejudice!"

"One may be quite unprejudiced," I answered, "and yet allow that
connection with the music-halls does not, as such, afford clear proof
that a girl is a compound of all the virtues."

"I think she's a good girl," he retorted, slowly.

"Then why do you want to throw her over?" I inquired.