all sense of art or profession. Acting seems to be
nothing but a trade, and a poor, cheap one at that."

He was not surprised, but was much encouraged by this candid
account of her state of mind. Said he:

"It's my private opinion that only your obstinacy keeps you
from giving it up straight off. Surely you must see it's
nonsense. Drop it and come along--and be comfortable and
happy. Why be obstinate? There's nothing in it."

"Perhaps it _is_ obstinacy," said she. "I like to think it's
something else."

"Drop it. You want to. You know you do."

"I want to, but I can't," replied she.

He recognized the tone, the expression of the eyes, the sudden
showing of strength through the soft, young contour. And he desisted.

Never again could there be comfort, much less happiness, until
she had tried out her reawakened ambition. She had given up
all that had been occupying her since she left America with
Freddie; she had abandoned herself to a life of toil.
Certainly nothing could have been more tedious, more
tormenting to sensitive nerves, than the schooling through
which Brent was putting her. Its childishness revolted her
and angered her. Experience had long since lowered very
considerably the point at which her naturally sweet
disposition ceased to be sweet--a process through which every
good-tempered person must pass unless he or she is to be
crushed and cast aside as a failure. There were days, many of
them, when it took all her good sense, all her fundamental
faith in Brent, to restrain her from an outbreak. Streathern
regarded Brent as a crank, and had to call into service all
his humility as a poor Englishman toward a rich man to keep
from showing his contempt. And Brent seemed to be--indeed
was--testing her forbearance to the uttermost. He offered not
the slightest explanation of his method. He simply ordered
her blindly to pursue the course he marked out. She was
sorely tempted to ask, to demand, explanations. But there
stood out a quality in Brent that made her resolve ooze away,
as soon as she faced him. Of one thing she was confident.
Any lingering suspicions Freddie might have had of Brent's
interest in her as a woman, or even of her being interested
in him as a man, must have been killed beyond resurrection.
Freddie showed that he would have hated Brent, would have
burst out against him, for the unhuman, inhuman way he was
treating her, had it not been that Brent was so admirably