y
strange to her. In the intervals, Scawthorne spoke of the difficulties
that beset an actress's career at its beginning.

'I suppose you never thought of trying it?' he asked. 'Yet I fancy you
might do well, if only you could have a few months' training, just to
start you. Of course it all depends on knowing how to go about it. A
little money would be necessary--not much.'

Clara made no reply. On the way home she was mute. Scawthorne took
leave of her in Upper Street, and promised to look in again before
long. . . .

Under the heat of these summer days, in the reeking atmosphere of the
bar, Clara panted fever-stricken. The weeks went on; what strength
supported her from the Monday morning to the Saturday midnight she
could not tell. Acting and refraining, speaking and holding silence,
these things were no longer the consequences of her own volition. She
wished to break free from her slavery, but had not the force to do so;
something held her voice as often as she was about to tell Mrs. Tubbs
that this week would be the last. Her body wasted so that all the
garments she wore were loose upon her. The only mental process of which
she was capable was reviewing the misery of days just past and
anticipating that of the days to come. Her only feelings were infinite
self-pity and a dull smouldering hatred of all others in the world. A
doctor would have bidden her take to bed, as one in danger of grave
illness. She bore through it without change in her habits, and in time
the strange lethargy passed.

Scawthorne came to the bar frequently. He remarked often on her look of
suffering, and urged a holiday. At length, near the end of July, he
invited her to go up the river with him on the coming Bank-holiday.
Clara consented, though aware that her presence would be more than ever
necessary at the bar on the day of much drinking. Later in the evening
she addressed her demand to Mrs. Tubbs. It was refused.

Without a word of anger, Clara went upstairs, prepared herself for
walking, and set forth among the by-ways of Islington. In half an hour
she had found a cheap bedroom, for which she paid a week's rent in
advance. She purchased a few articles of food and carried them to her
lodging, then lay down in the darkness.

CHAPTER X

THE LAST COMBAT

During these summer months Sidney Kirkwood's visits to the house in
Clerkenwell Close were comparatively rare. It was not his own wish to
relax in any degree the close friend