assumed
confusion. "I shouldn't have called so early. I just ran in to bring you
_Town Topics_. The most killing article about you, dear. By-by; I'll see
you later!" And, kissing her hand to Eleanor, she flitted down the hall.

"Shall I go or will you?" Eleanor demanded of Harold.

She was standing in the open door, all the color fled from her face and
her eyes blazing with anger.

"I'll go, of course," said Harold. "Only, you must not mind Estelle.
Everybody knows she's a fool----"

The door was slammed in his face and locked before he finished the
sentence.

For a moment Eleanor stood immovable; then her eye fell on the paper that
Estelle Linton had thrust into her hand, and she saw her stage name on
the title-page.

Pretty little romance back of the production of "Phantom Love" [she
read]. It is rumored that a wealthy young Chicago playwright, having
met with family opposition in winning a young Southern belle, took
advantage of her histrionic ambition, and persuaded her to play a
role in his new play, which he wrote especially for her. Those who
saw the opening performance of "Phantom Love" at Atlantic City
Wednesday night will have little trouble in recognizing the heroine
of the story. Miss Nell Martel is one of the daintiest bits of
femininity that have flitted behind the footlights in many moons.
She has youth and beauty and a certain elusive charm. But the fact
remains that she can not act. For the continued success of the really
brilliant play, let us hope that the young lady's lover may soon
become her husband, and that, having won his prize, he will
substitute a professional for the charming young amateur who is in
no way up to the rest of the really excellent cast.

Eleanor crushed the paper in her hand, flung herself across the bed, and
buried her hot face in the pillow. All her life she had walked unafraid
and inviolate, protected by her social position, the over-zealous
solicitude of the family, and her own purity. She had flown out of the
family nest, confident of her power to take care of herself, to breast
any storm. And here, at the beginning of her flight, she found herself in
utter confusion of body and spirit, powerless to protect herself against
such conduct as Harold's, such printed gossip as lay before her, or such
unspeakable insinuations as Estelle Linton's.

When Papa Claude returned, her first impulse was to pour out her t