ad thought she would be
so pleased--you see, I was young yet, and sometimes very stupid--I forgot
she had a daughter. But suddenly she called to me in the old, kindly
voice I was so used to: "Come back Clara," she cried, "come back! It's
mean to punish you for another's fault. My dear, I congratulate you; you
have only proved what I have long believed, that you have in you the
making of a fine actress. But when I think who had that same chance, and
that it was deliberately thrown away," her lips trembled, "I--well, it's
hard to bear. Even all this to-do about you in the part does not make
her regret what she has done."

Poor mother! I felt so sorry for her. I wished to go away then, I thought
my presence was unpleasant, but she made me tell her all about the
evening, and describe Miss St. Clair's dress, and what everyone said and
did. Loyal soul! I think that was a self-inflicted penance for a
momentary unkindness.

Blanche gave me her usual kind greeting, and added the words: "Say, if I
hadn't given you the chance, you couldn't have been a big gun to-day. You
know Mr. Ellsler won't dare to give you anything, but he would have given
me a nice present if I had done the part for him. So after all I've lost,
I think you might give me a new piece of chewing-gum, mine won't snap or
squeak or stretch out or do anything, it's just in its crumbly old age."

I gave the new gum; so, now, if that success seems not quite square, if
you think I made an unfair use of my funds in obtaining promotion, do
please remember that I was only an accessory _after_ the act--not before
it. I am the more anxious this should be impressed upon your mind because
that penny was the only one I ever spent in paying for advancement
professionally.

The second night of the "Lone House" was also the last night of Miss St.
Clair's engagement, and when I carried her blue-brocade gown back to her,
eagerly calling attention to its spotless condition, she stood with her
hand high against the wall and her head resting heavily upon her
outstretched arm. It was an attitude of such utter collapse, there was
such a wanness on her white face that the commonplace words ceased to
bubble over my lips, and, startled, I turned toward her husband. Charles
Barras, gentleman as he was by birth and breeding, and one time officer
in the American navy, was nevertheless in manner and appearance so odd
that the sight or the sound of him provoked instant smiles, but that
nigh