s and mouth and hair had never even heard
of Jenny's name. Surely, if he were to come and look into her face, she
would recognise him at once, and the old common interests would rise to
her lips as of old.

Theophil went again to the theatre the next night, and again the next,
which was the last of the company's stay in the town; and the spell of
the false Florimel grew so strong upon him that at the close of the
final performance he sent up his card to the actress, and presently, as
in a dream, found himself stumbling among scenery and dipping under
beams on his way to the actress's room. If she were only as like Jenny
close to, he felt he must follow her to the end of the world; and indeed
the illusion still held as he entered the little mirrored room, smelling
of powder and littered with laces and silks,--fancy little Jenny here
among the grease-paints and the bouquets! It was only with the lack of
recognition in the polite welcome the actress gave him that the illusion
began to waver, or was it only that Jenny had forgotten him?

So possessed had he been with the hallucination, that he had not
thought what excuse he would have to make to the actress for his visit,
and it was with an embarrassing shock that the necessity of speech came
to him, when he had stumbled through some mechanical words of
salutation. She looked at him with a little air of bewilderment, and
motioned to her attendant to leave them alone. As the door closed,
Theophil had determined to tell her the simple truth.

"I have to ask your pardon," he began, "for a very strange intrusion.
The reason of it is simply this. You are so like someone I love who is
dead that I felt I could not rest till I had spoken to you. I trust you
will excuse me, and try to understand. Yes! you are terribly like her!"

The story appealed to the actress's instinct for romance, and she
entered into its spirit. Besides, the young clergyman was very
interesting to look at, and the charm of sorrow was on his face.

"An actress can hardly complain," she answered, "of being taken for
someone else, and though I don't know you, I feel that you have done me
an honour. Am I indeed so like her? How strange it must seem to you!"

"It is very strange," said Theophil, still fascinated. Then he told this
image of Jenny the story of how Jenny had died. The tears came into the
actress's eyes as he talked, and it was as though Jenny shed tears for
Jenny's death.

"Poor little girl!"