y a year, and was taken a little way through
music's halls, loitered for a time before the easel, and even made a
little rush at a foreign language to help me to the proper pronunciation
of names upon the stage; and no man, no woman all that time rose up to
call me ignorant. So I give all thanks and all honor to the profession
that not only fed and clothed me, but educated me too!

CHAPTER TWELFTH

The Peter Richings' Engagement brings me my First Taste of
Slander--Anent the Splendor of my Wardrobe, also my First Newspaper
Notice.

I remember particularly that second season, because it brought to me the
first taste of slander, my first newspaper notice, and my first proposal
of marriage. The latter being, according to my belief, the natural result
of lengthening my skirts and putting up my hair--at all events, it was a
part of my education.

Of course the question of wardrobe was a most important one still. I had
done very well, so far as peasant dresses of various nationalities were
concerned; I had even acquired a page's dress of my own, but I had no
ball-dress, nothing but a plain, skimpy white muslin gown, which I had
outgrown; for I had gained surprisingly in height with the passing year.
And, lo! the report went about that Mr. Peter Richings and his daughter
Caroline were coming in a fortnight, and they would surely do their play
"Fashion," in which everyone was on in a dance; and I knew everyone would
bring out her best for that attraction, for you must know that actresses
in a stock company grade their costumes by the stars, and only bring out
the very treasures of their wardrobes on state occasions. I was in great
distress; one of my mates had a genuine silk dress, the other owned a
bunch of artificial gold grapes, horribly unbecoming, stiff things, but,
mercy, gold grapes! who cared whether they were becoming or not? Were
they not gorgeous (a lady star had given them to her)? And I would have
to drag about, heavy-footed, in a skimpy muslin!

But in the company there was a lady who had three charming little
children. She was the singing soubrette (by name Mrs. James Dickson). One
of her babies became sick, and I sometimes did small bits of shopping or
other errands for her, thus permitting her to go at once from rehearsal
to her beloved babies. Entering her room from one of these errands, I
found her much vexed and excited over the destruction of one of a set of
fine new lace curtains. The nu