y visible as she stood erect
upon the boulder.

"Oh, no! You can improve on that; it must be done lightly and quickly,
just touching the tips of your fingers to the rock. Ah, splendid! Now
stand with one hand dropped upon the hip--let me see how that looks.
Very good; now repeat these lines after me. 'This other world, of which
you speak?' Shake your head slowly, frowning; every hint of sincere
doubt and questioning you can throw into look and gesture. 'Is it a kind
world, a place of honest hearts? You have spoken of cities, and crowded
avenues, of music and theatres and many things I have read of but never
seen. You promise me much, but what should I do in so vast a company? I
am very happy here. Spring and summer fill my hands with flowers and in
winter I lay my face to the wind that carries sleet and snow. All this
is mine.' Arms stretched out. You mustn't make that stiff--very good.
'Earth and sky and forest belong to me. The morning comes down the sky
in search of me and the tired day bids me good-night at the western
gate. You would change rags for silk.' You turn your body and catch your
skirt in your hands, looking down. Yes; you are barefoot in this scene.
You'll have to practise that turn. Now--'And yet I should lose my
dominion; in that world you boast of I should no more be Lady
Larkspur.'"

Alice had repeated these lines, testing and trying different
modulations. Sometimes a dozen repetitions hardly sufficed to satisfy
Mrs. Farnsworth, who herself recited them and postured for Alice's
instruction.

"Please read the whole of the second act again," said Alice, seating
herself on the boulder. I waited for a few minutes, enjoying the
beautiful flow of Mrs. Farnsworth's voice, then, mystified and awed, I
crept down the ladder and stole away. "It's Dick Searles's play," I kept
whispering to myself. It was the "Lady Larkspur" that he was holding
back until he could find the girl who had so enchanted him in London and
for whom he had written this very comedy with its setting in the
Virginia hills.

Hurrying to the garage, I snarled at Flynn, who said Torrence had been
calling me all morning and had finally left word that he would motor to
Barton at eight the next evening to see me on urgent business. I
unlocked my trunk and dug out my copy of "Lady Larkspur." Not even the
wizardry of Alice and her friend could have extracted the script. The
two women had in some way possessed themselves of another copy, an exa