than spiritual
conscience, in the decay of some ancestral ideals. But he had rendered
their willingness hopeless by marrying, rather late in life, a young
girl from the farther West who had come East with a general purpose
to get on. She got on very well with Milray, and it was perhaps not
altogether her own fault that she did not get on so well with his
family, when she began to substitute a society aim for the artistic
ambition that had brought her to New York. They might have forgiven him
for marrying her, but they could not forgive her for marrying him. They
were of New England origin and they were perhaps a little more critical
with her than if they had been New Yorkers of Dutch strain. They said
that she was a little Western hoyden, but that the stage would have been
a good place for her if she could have got over her Pike county accent;
in the hush of family councils they confided to one another the belief
that there were phases of the variety business in which her accent would
have been no barrier to her success, since it could not have been heard
in the dance, and might have been disguised in the song.

"Will you kindly read that passage over again?" Milray asked as
Clementina paused at the end of a certain paragraph. She read it, while
he listened attentively. "Could you tell me just what you understand by
that?" he pursued, as if he really expected Clementina to instruct him.

She hesitated a moment before she answered, "I don't believe I undastand
anything at all."

"Do you know," said Milray, "that's exactly my own case? And I've an
idea that the author is in the same box," and Clementina perceived she
might laugh, and laughed discreetly.

Milray seemed to feel the note of discreetness in her laugh, and he
asked, smiling, "How old did you tell me you were?"

"I'm sixteen," said Clementina.

"It's a great age," said Milray. "I remember being sixteen myself; I
have never been so old since. But I was very old for my age, then. Do
you think you are?"

"I don't believe I am," said Clementina, laughing again, but still very
discreetly.

"Then I should like to tell you that you have a very agreeable voice. Do
you sing?"

"No'm--no, sir--no," said Clementina, "I can't sing at all."

"Ah, that's very interesting," said Milray, "but it's not surprising.
I wish I could see your face distinctly; I've a great curiosity about
matching voices and faces; I must get Mrs. Milray to tell me how you
look. Where di