on her countenance. It unlocked the door to
a new desire. She had cause to ponder over this until they met
again--several weeks or more. It showed her she was drifting away from
the old ideal which had filled her in the dressing-rooms of the Avery
stage and thereafter, for a long time. Why had she lost it?

"I know why you should be a success," he said, another time, "if you had
a more dramatic part. I've studied it out----"

"What is it?" said Carrie.

"Well," he said, as one pleased with a puzzle, "the expression in your
face is one that comes out in different things. You get the same thing
in a pathetic song, or any picture which moves you deeply. It's a
thing the world likes to see, because it's a natural expression of its
longing."

Carrie gazed without exactly getting the import of what he meant.

"The world is always struggling to express itself," he went on. "Most
people are not capable of voicing their feelings. They depend upon
others. That is what genius is for. One man expresses their desires for
them in music; another one in poetry; another one in a play. Sometimes
nature does it in a face--it makes the face representative of all
desire. That's what has happened in your case."

He looked at her with so much of the import of the thing in his eyes
that she caught it. At least, she got the idea that her look was
something which represented the world's longing. She took it to heart as
a creditable thing, until he added:

"That puts a burden of duty on you. It so happens that you have this
thing. It is no credit to you--that is, I mean, you might not have had
it. You paid nothing to get it. But now that you have it, you must do
something with it."

"What?" asked Carrie.

"I should say, turn to the dramatic field. You have so much sympathy and
such a melodious voice. Make them valuable to others. It will make your
powers endure."

Carrie did not understand this last. All the rest showed her that her
comedy success was little or nothing.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Why, just this. You have this quality in your eyes and mouth and in
your nature. You can lose it, you know. If you turn away from it and
live to satisfy yourself alone, it will go fast enough. The look
will leave your eyes. Your mouth will change. Your power to act will
disappear. You may think they won't, but they will. Nature takes care of
that."

He was so interested in forwarding all good causes that he sometimes
became enthu