m going to make a confession. Your letters gave me an impression
of--of--well, you are entirely unlike your letters--you are smaller, and
you look even younger than you really are. There isn't the very faintest
suggestion of the actress in your manner, and--and--to be honest, I was a
bit frightened over the engagement I had made. Then your having to open
in this insignificant part was against you. But they are no fools out
_there_, my girl. They have found you out already. Your eyes and voice
alone won that welcome, and I'd not be afraid to wager something now that
the last curtain falls to-night upon a new favorite."

I was greatly pleased, but those broad lines were still hanging over me,
still disturbing me.

At last the scene arrived. I gave the inquiring speech, with its wretched
double meaning, clearly and plainly, looking squarely and honestly into
the eyes of the person I addressed--the result was described as follows
by a morning paper:

"That one speech proved the newcomer an actress of superior quality.
Clearly and simply given, the great guffaw that instantly responded to
the _double-entendre_ had scarcely risen, when the girl's perfect
honesty, her wide-eyed innocence, so impressed the audience that applause
broke from every part of the house. It was the most dramatic moment of
the evening, for that outburst was not merely approbation for the
actress, it was homage to the woman."

So it came to pass that Mr. Macaulay's words came true--the curtain fell
upon a favorite, by grace of the warm and kindly hearts of the
Cincinnatians, who were quick to see merits and ever ready to forgive
errors.

The Hebrew citizens, who are enthusiastic and most generous patrons of
the theatre, became especially fond of me, so much so indeed that the
company christened me "Rebecca," in jesting allusion to their favor, of
which I was nevertheless very proud, for better judges of matters
theatrical it would be hard to find.

When my mother arrived, we settled down in our little rooms, where my
trunks, which had to be opened every day for the nightly change of
costume, had to stand one on top of another in order to make room for an
old battle-scarred piano that I had hired.

I do not know its maker's name--no one knows--which was well for that
person, because his act in constructing such a thing placed him in the
criminal classes. It seemed to be a cross between a coffin and a
billiard-table, and there was just enough left