wenty-three or four. We were all
young--enjoyed our rehearsals, and had lots of fun--but I did not
respond to the advances A. was evidently making to me. Finally we
started on our tour. As the weeks went on A.F., like the others,
improved wonderfully in health and appearance. If we had had
anything like houses it would have been a pleasant trip. My
strangeness did not escape the notice of the boys altogether, for
I was still a bit strange in mind and nerves--and deeply
religious, bowing my head before each meal and reading my little
Bible and prayer-book at odd times. I drank no alcohol. I spent a
good deal of time by myself of with my faithful companion A., who
was nearly always at my side, she and her appealing eyes. I was
surprised to see how quickly she had improved; she looked quite
attractive and ladylike some evenings at meals, but I only
tolerated her. I was selfish and conceited.

Things had been going on like this for a week--always playing to
empty houses and our money lower and lower--when A. said to our
other lady, Mrs. T., on a train in my presence: "I shall have to
give him up, I suppose; he will have nothing to do with me." Mrs.
T. said: "You give him up, do you?" and looked at me as if she
were going to try her hand. A. said "Yes," and looked at me,
smiling sadly. I don't know what motive prompted me--whether my
vanity was alarmed at her threatened desertion or that she had
really made some impression on me by her love, probably a little
of both--but I said: "No, don't; come and sit down here," making
way for her, and she joyfully came and nestled against me. From
that time I ceased to treat her with ridicule, and kissed her at
other times than when on the stage. I was subject still to black
moods, and would not speak to her for hours sometimes, but she
seemed content to walk with me and was infinitely patient. I had
heard she was living with--if not married to--an actor. I asked
her about him once, and she said she did not love him; she loved
me and had never loved before. Her face had a touching sadness;
her life had been unhappy and stormy, with no love and little
rest in it. Her face, when she had lost her dissipated look and
unhealthy pallor, was exquisite, delicate as a cameo. Love had
improved her manners, too; she was more gentle and refined. I let