y his dreary years; no other offerings for them he
loved.

"Yes. The play is over for--to-night. The Property Man can take his rest
until--to-morrow. Turn on the lights, Priscilla Glenn. You and I must
find our way out of the darkness."

"Let me help you, Mr. Boswell."

"Help me? That sounds very kind. I will make believe that I am ninety!
Yes, you may help me. Thank you! And now good night. You need not write
of--Joan Moss to Farwell. I am grateful because you understand and
appreciate my--my attempt. I can bring the tale to a close in great
style. I was a bit discouraged, but it seems clear and convincing now.
That is often the way in my trade of story-maker. We come against a blank
wall, only to find there a gateway that opens to our touch."

CHAPTER XV

After Boswell's confidence concerning Anton Farwell, Priscilla's relation
to the man who had befriended her, to life itself, became more vital and
normal. The superficial conditions were dissipated by the knowledge that
Boswell, in speaking so frankly to her, considered her a woman, not a
child, and expected a woman's acceptance of duties and responsibilities.
Besides this, Boswell himself took on new proportions. His whimsical
oddities had been, for an hour, set aside. For a time he had permitted
her to see and know him--the simple, good man he really was. In short,
Priscilla could no longer play, could no longer make a defence of her
shyness and ignorance; she realized that she must plunge into the
whirlpool for which she had left the In-Place and she must do so at once.

Boswell might fantastically play at being ninety and permit her to lend
her strength and youth to his use, but she never again could be deceived.
He was assisting her for Farwell's sake. He liked her, found her
entertaining, but intuitively she knew that in order to retain his
respect and confidence she must fulfil her part.

For a week or so longer he and she went to operas and theatres together
while final arrangements were being completed for her immediate
admittance, on trial, to the finest private hospital in the city, to
which was attached a training school of high repute.

Priscilla was both right and wrong about Boswell. He did appreciate and
admire her insistence to begin her career. It was the only course for her
to take; but he looked forward to the lonely, empty days without her with
real concern.

He had, to a certain extent, grown used to the detachment and
colourl