ter. But he did not stay to
detect the obvious fallacy of her argument. It was all a maze of words
to him. The drowning man does not hear questions addressed to him. He
only knows that the waters are closing over him, and there is no arm
stretched out to save.

"I do not know myself for two minutes together," she wrote. "What is my
present mood, for example? Why, one of absolute and ungovernable
hatred--hatred of the woman who would take my place if I were to retire
from the stage. I have been thinking of it all the morning--picturing
myself as an unknown nonentity, vanished from the eyes of the public, in
a social grave. And I have to listen to people praising the new actress;
and I have to read columns about her in the papers; and I am unable to
say, 'Why, all that and more was written and said about me!' What has an
actress to show for herself if once she leaves the stage? People forget
her the next day; no record is kept of her triumphs. A painter, now, who
spends years of his life in earnest study--it does not matter to him
whether the public applaud or not, whether they forget or not. He has
always before him these evidences of his genius; and among his friends
he can choose his fit audience. Even when he is an old man, and
listening to the praise of all the young fellows who have caught the
taste of the public, he can, at all events, show something of his work
as testimony of what he was. But an actress, the moment she leaves the
stage, is a snuffed-out candle. She has her stage-dresses to prove that
she acted certain parts; and she may have a scrap-book with cuttings of
criticisms from the provincial papers! You know, dear Keith, all this is
very heart-sickening; and I am quite aware that it will trouble you, as
it troubles me, and sometimes makes me ashamed of myself; but then it is
true, and it is better for both of us that it should be known. I could
not undertake to be a hypocrite all my life. I must confess to you,
whatever be the consequences, that I distinctly made a mistake when I
thought it was such an easy thing to adopt a whole new set of opinions
and tastes and habits. The old Adam, as your Scotch ministers would
say, keeps coming back, to jog my elbow as an old familiar friend. And
you would not have me conceal the fact from you? I know how difficult it
will be for you to understand or sympathize with me. You have never been
brought up to a profession, every inch of your progress in which you
have t