e had to represent, and the
anguish in her face and low ringing tones went to Vincent's heart, as
he thought how soon it might become a terrible reality.

He could scarcely bear to see her there simulating a sorrow which was
nothing to that which might be coming upon her, and from which all his
devotion might not save her this time. He was impatient to meet Caffyn
and find out what he knew, and how he might be silenced; but Caffyn
was on the stage continually, in his capacity of stage manager, and
Vincent was forced to wait until his opportunity should present
itself.

It was a relief to him when the rehearsal, after dragging on through
three long acts, came to a premature close, owing to the lateness of
the hour and a decided preference on the part of the younger members
of the company for the dancing which had been promised later as a
bribe, and which they had no intention of sacrificing to a fourth
act--for art must not be too long with amateurs.

The room was being cleared accordingly, when Vincent saw his hostess
coming with Caffyn in his direction, and heard her say, 'Well, I
_will_ ask Mr. Holroyd then if you wish it!' She seemed excited and
annoyed, and he thought Caffyn's face bore an odd expression of
triumph. He waited for the question with a heavy anticipation.

'Mr. Caffyn tells me you're quite an authority,' began Mrs.
Featherstone (she had not yet found herself able to mention him as
'Harold'). 'You heard our little discussion about the close of that
third act, just now? Now do tell me, how did it strike _you_?'

This appeal was an unexpected relief to him; he protested that he was
not qualified to express any opinion.

'Now really,' said Caffyn, 'that won't quite do; we know how
interested you are in the book.'

'We are so grateful for the least little hint,' simpered Mrs.
Featherstone, 'and it is so useful to know how a scene strikes just
the ordinary observer, you know; so if you did notice anything, don't,
_please_, be afraid to mention it!'

Vincent had told himself that in going there he would be able to put
away all personal association with the play; he had given the book up
once and for all, he only desired to see Mabel once as his lost
heroine. But nature had proved too strong for him after all: the
feebleness of this dramatic version had vexed his instincts as creator
more than he was willing to believe, and when in this very closing
scene the strongest situation in the book had been