on's intentions toward him, interest had at present nothing to
do with them; indeed it was made clear that even were she to surrender
her liberty to him, it would only be as a princess, forging golden
chains for herself with her own royal hand.

Another fortnight passed to the mutual satisfaction of the lovers. To
Vane it was a dream of rapture to be near this great creature, whom
thousands admired at such a distance; to watch over her, to take her to
the theater in a warm shawl, to stand at the wing and receive her as she
came radiant from her dressing-room, to watch her from her rear as
she stood like some power about to descend on the stage, to see her
falcon-like stoop upon the said stage, and hear the burst of applause
that followed, as the report does the flash; to compare this with the
spiritless crawl with which common artists went on, tame from their
first note to their last; to take her hand when she came off, feel how
her nerves were strung like a greyhound's after a race, and her whole
frame in a high even glow, with the great Pythoness excitement of art.

And to have the same great creature leaning her head on his shoulder,
and listening with a charming complacency, while he purred to her of
love and calm delights, alternate with still greater triumphs; for he
was to turn dramatic writer, for her sake, was to write plays, a woman
the hero, and love was to inspire him, and passion supply the want of
pencraft. (You make me laugh, Mr. Vane!)

All this was heavenly.

And then with all her dash, and fire, and bravado, she was a thorough
woman.

"Margaret!"

"Ernest!"

"I want to ask you a question. Did you really cry because that Miss
Bellamy had dresses from Paris?"

"It does not seem very likely."

"No, but tell me; did you?"

"Who said I did?"

"Mr. Cibber."

"Old fool!"

"Yes, but did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Cry!"

"Ernest, the minx's dresses were beautiful."

"No doubt. But did you cry?"

"And mine were dirty; I don't care about gilt rags, but dirty dresses,
ugh!"

"Tell me, then."

"Tell you what?"

"Did you cry or not?"

"Ah! he wants to find out whether I am a fool, and despise me."

"No, I think I should love you better. For hitherto I have seen no
weakness in you, and it makes me uncomfortable."

"Be comforted! Is it not a weakness to like you!"

"You are free from that weakness, or you would gratify my curiosity."

"Be pleased to state, in plain, intelligible Engli