hat occurred in my country home, sir, three years ago."

Then Mr. Daly gave his arm to the old stranger, and in dead silence they
walked to the hotel and parted.

Once more the play had reflected real life.

_CHAPTER IV

"MISS MULTON" AT THE UNION SQUARE_

Mr. Palmer had produced "Miss Multon" at the Union Square, and we were
fast settling down to our steady, regular gait, having got over the
false starts and breaks and nervous shyings of the opening performance,
when another missive of portentous bulk reached me.

It was one of those letters in which you can find everything except an
end; and the writer was one of those men whose subjects, like an
unhealthy hair, always split at the end, making at least two subjects
out of one.

For instance, he started to show me the resemblance between his life and
the story of the play; but when he came to mention his wife, the hair
split, and instead of continuing, he branched off, to tell me she was
the step-daughter of "So-and-so," that her own father, who was
"Somebody," had died of "something," and had been buried "somewhere";
and then that hair split, and he proceeded to expatiate on the two
fathers' qualities, and state their different business occupations,
after which, out of breath, and far, far from the original subject, he
had to hark back two and a half pages and tackle his life again.

Truth to tell, it was rather pathetic reading when he kept to the point,
for love for his wife cropped out plainly between the lines after years
of separation. Suddenly he began to adorn me with a variety of fine
qualities. He assured me that I had penetration, clear judgment, and a
sense of justice, as well as a warm heart.

I was staggering under these piled-up traits, when he completely floored
me, so to speak, by asking me to take his case under consideration,
assuring me he would act upon my advice. If I thought he had been too
severe in his conduct toward his wife, to say so, and he would seek her
out, and humble himself before her, and ask her to return to him.

He also asked me whether, as a woman, I thought she would be influenced
wholly by the welfare of her children, or whether she would be likely to
retain a trace of affection for himself.

That letter was an outrage. The idea of appealing to me, who had not had
the experience of a single divorce to rely upon! Even my one husband was
so recent an acquisition as to be still considered a novelty. And yet I,