modern method I mean."

"Oh," I broke in, "then I shall have a rest, for I am not beautiful
enough for even a walking-lady divinity."

"Ah," he said, kindly, "you are not going to do any more walking
ladies--divine or human. I have already in my possession a play with a
great part for you. Boucicault wrote it, and----"

He stopped suddenly, all the brightness went out of his face. He played
nervously with his watch-guard. He started out with: "Miss Morris, I
wish--" stopped, frowned; then impatiently took up the picture-plate,
pointed out which dress he wanted me to wear, and curtly dismissed me.

I understood him perfectly. In a genial moment he had unintentionally
given me some information which he now regretted, though he would not
stoop to ask my silence; and he felt sure that I would at once boast of
the great part that was to be mine; and I went home, one broad smile of
malicious satisfaction, for in spite of my seemingly-careless speech, I
had, by long and careful training, acquired the fine art of holding my
tongue about other people's affairs, even though I ascended to the roof
to babble to the city of my own; and Mr. Daly would be again
disappointed, as he had been the day I accepted, without protest, the
walking-lady part.

That night he barely nodded in silent recognition of my "Good-evening,
sir." Next morning he kept his eyes averted from me when he gave me any
stage directions; but whenever or wherever we women formed a little group
to chat, there Mr. Daly, like a jack-in-the-box, suddenly sprang into
evidence. It was very funny--he was simply waiting for me to repeat my
interesting information.

Two, three days passed, then a certain kindness began to show in his
manner toward me. Quite suddenly, and of course unasked, he gave me a
dressing-room to myself. I was delighted! Hesitatingly, I tapped at the
door of his office. I had never stood there before, save by order. I
said: "I will not come in, Mr. Daly, I only wished to thank you for the
room you have given me. It will be a great comfort, for we are terribly
crowded in the other one."

But he rose, took my hand, and said: "You deserve anything and everything
this theatre can provide for you." Drawing me to a chair, he placed me in
it, while still speaking: "And I am proud of you. You are a girl in ten
thousand! For you can respect a confidence."

I was very much embarrassed by such unexpected warmth, and laughing
nervously I said: "Even when