o contest against rivals; and you don't know how jealous one is of
one's position when it is gained. I think I would rather be made an old
woman or sixty to-morrow morning, than get up and go out and find my
name printed in small letters in the theatre-bills. And if I try to
imagine what my feelings would be if I were to retire from the stage,
surely that is in your interest as well as mine. How would you like to
be tied for life to a person who was continually looking back to her
past career with regret, and who was continually looking around her for
objects of jealous and envious anger? Really, I try to do my duty by
everybody. All the time I was at Castle Dare I tried to picture myself
living there, and taking an interest in the fishing, and the farms, and
so on; and if I was haunted by the dread that, instead of thinking about
the fishing and the farms, I should be thinking of the triumphs of the
actress who had taken my place in the attention of the public, I had to
recognize the fact. It is wretched and pitiable, no doubt; but look at
my training. If you tell me to be true to myself--that is myself. And at
all events I feel more contented that I have made a frank-confession."

Surely it was a fair and reasonable letter? But the answer that came to
it had none of its pleasant common-sense. It was all a wild appeal--a
calling on her not to fall away from the resolves she had made--not to
yield to those despondent moods. There was but the one way to get rid of
her doubts and hesitations; let her at once cast aside the theatre, and
all its associations and malign influences, and become his wife, and he
would take her by the hand and lead her away from that besetting
temptation. Could she forget the day on which she gave him the red rose?
She was a woman; she could not forget.

She folded up the letter and held it in her hand, and went into her
father's room. There was a certain petulant and irritated look on her
face.

"He says he is coming up to London, papa," said she, abruptly.

"I suppose you mean Sir Keith Macleod," said he.

"Well, of course. And can you imagine anything more provoking--just at
present, when we are rehearsing this new play, and when all the time I
can afford Mr. Lemuel wants for the portrait? I declare the only time I
feel quiet, secure, safe from the interference of anybody, and more
especially the worry of the postman, is when I am having that portrait
painted; the intense stillness of the