st in the
passage, she stood poised on the threshold. A beautiful woman is a
tangible enchantment; and fame and fortune had made Katherine
Challoner beautiful, roguishly, daringly, puzzlingly beautiful. Her
eyes sparkled like stars on ruffled waters, the flame of health and
life burned in her cheeks, and the moist red mobile mouth expressed
emotions so rapidly and irregularly as to bewilder the man who
attempted to follow them. Ah, but she could act; comedy or tragedy, it
mattered not; she was always superb.

There was a tableau of short duration. Her expression was one of
gentle inquiry, his was one of interest not unmixed with fascination.
He felt a quick touch of compassion, of embarrassment. There had been
times when yonder woman had seemed to show him the preference that is
given only to men who are loved. Even as the thought came to him, he
prayed that it was only his man's vanity that imagined it. As he
stared at her, there came the old thrill: beauty is a power
tremendous.

"Dick, you do not say you are glad to see me."

"Beauty striketh the sage dumb," he laughed. "What good fortune brings
you here to-night? What has happened? How could you find time between
the acts to run over?"

"I am not acting to-night."

"What?"

"No. Nor shall I be to-morrow night, nor the thousand nights that
shall follow."

"Why, girl!" he cried, pushing out a chair. He had not seen her for
two weeks. He had known nothing of her movements, save that her
splendid talents had saved a play from utter ruin. Her declaration was
like a thunderbolt. "Explain!"

"Well, I am tired, Dick; I am tired." She sat down, and her gaze roved
about the familiar room with a veiled affection for everything she
saw. "The world is empty. I have begun to hate the fools who applaud
me. I hate the evil smells which hang about the theater. I hate the
overture and the man with the drums," whimsically.

"What's he done to you?"

"Nothing, only he makes more noise than the others. I'm tired. It is
not a definite reason; but a woman is never obliged to be definite."

"No; I never could understand you, even when you took the trouble to
explain things."

"Yes, I know." She drew off her gloves and rubbed her fingers, which
were damp and cold.

"But, surely, this is only a whim. You can't seriously mean to give up
the stage when the whole world is watching you!"

She did not answer him, but continued to rub her fingers. She wore
several rings, among