nd, noticing my amazed face, said, "You don't see it, do you?"

"No," I answered.

"Well," said he, "did you know who that bust was?"

"Yes," I replied, "I think it was Ariadne."

"Oh, no!" he said, "it was a bust of Bacchus; then, when Mrs. Backus
appeared--"

"Oh!" I interrupted. "They all said to themselves: 'Poor Backus is
broken all up! Backus has busted!'"

And that was why they laughed; and she saw it and laughed with them, and
they saw _that_ and applauded her. Well, that's a quick-witted
audience--an opinion I still retain.

People are fond of saying, "A woman can't keep a secret." Well, perhaps
she doesn't keep her secrets forever; but here's how two women kept a
secret for a good many years, and betrayed it through a scene in a
play.

Mr. Daly's treasurer had given tickets to some friends for a performance
of "Divorce." They were ladies--mother and daughter. At first greatly
pleased, the elder lady soon began to grow nervous, then tearful as the
play went on; and her daughter, watching her closely, was about to
propose their retirement, when the mother, with clasped hands and
tear-blurred eyes, seeing the stealing of my little son by the order of
his father, thrilled the audience and terrified her daughter by flinging
up her arms and crying wildly: "Don't do it! for God's sake, don't do
it! You don't know what agony it means!" and fell fainting against the
frightened girl beside her.

Great confusion followed; the ushers, assisted by those seated near,
removed the unconscious woman to Mr. Daly's private office; but so
greatly had her words affected the people, that when the men on the
stage escaped through the window with the child in their arms, the
curtain fell to a volley of hisses.

In the office, as smelling salts, water, and fresh air were brought into
requisition, in answer to a question of Mr. Daly's, the treasurer was
saying, "She is Mrs. W----, a widow," when a faint voice interrupted,
"No--no; I'm no widow!"

The treasurer smiled pityingly, and continued, "I have known her
intimately for twelve years, sir; she is the widow of--"

"No--no!" came the now sobbing voice. "No--no! Oh, Daisy, dear, tell
him! tell him!"

And the young girl, very white, and trembling visibly, said: "I hope you
will forgive us, Mr. W----, but from causeless jealousy my father
deserted mother, and--and he stole my little brother, mamma's only son!
We have never heard of either of them since. Widowhood seemed