" expostulated Carlo Trent in italics, "_that
you never saw Rose Euclid as Constance_?"

And Edward Henry, shaking his abashed head, perceived that his life
had been wasted.

Carlo, for a few moments, grew reflective and softer.

"It's one of my earliest and most precious boyish memories,"
he murmured, as he examined the ceiling. "It must have been in
eighteen--"

Rose Euclid abandoned the ice with which she had just been served, and
by a single gesture drew Carlo's attention away from the ceiling,
and towards the fact that it would be clumsy on his part to indulge
further in the chronology of her career. She began to blush again.

Mr. Marrier, now back at the table after a successful expedition,
beamed over his ice:

"It was your 'Constance' that led to your friendship with the Countess
of Chell, wasn't it, Ra-ose? You know," he turned to Edward Henry,
"Miss Euclid and the Countess are virry intimate."

"Yes, I know," said Edward Henry.

Rose Euclid continued to blush. Her agitated hand scratched the back
of the chair behind her.

"Even Sir John Pilgrim admits I can act Shakspere," she said in a
thick mournful voice, looking at the cloth as she pronounced the
august name of the head of the dramatic profession. "It may surprise
you to know, Mr. Machin, that about a month ago, after he'd quarrelled
with Selina Gregory, Sir John asked me if I'd care to star with him on
his Shaksperean tour round the world next spring, and I said I would
if he'd include Carlo's poetical play, 'The Orient Pearl,' and he
wouldn't! No, he wouldn't! And now he's got little Cora Pryde! She
isn't twenty-two, and she's going to play Juliet! Can you imagine such
a thing! As if a mere girl could play Juliet!"

Carlo observed the mature actress with deep satisfaction, proud of
her, and proud also of himself.

"I wouldn't go with Pilgrim now," exclaimed Rose, passionately, "not
if he went down on his knees to me!"

"And nothing on earth would induce me to let him have 'The Orient
Pearl'!" Carlo Trent asseverated with equal passion. "He's lost that
for ever!" he added grimly. "It won't be he who'll collar the profits
out of that! It'll just be ourselves!"

"Not if he went down on his knees to me!" Rose was repeating to
herself with fervency.

The calm of despair took possession of Edward Henry. He felt that
he must act immediately--he knew his own mood, by long experience.
Exploring the pockets of the dressing-gown which had aroused