id not look it. Ursula was older,
but she would always be in a sense ageless, as such women are--one would
thrill to Sara Bernhardt were she seventeen or seventy.

Jimmie seemed to have dropped the years from him. He was very confident
of the success of his play. "It can't fail," he said, "with Ursula to
make it sure--"

I wondered whether it was Ursula or Elise who had made it sure. Could he
ever have written it if Elise had not kept him at it? Yet she had stolen
his youth!

And now Ursula was giving his youth back to him! As I saw the cock of
his head, heard the ring of his gay laughter, I felt that it might be
so. And suddenly I knew that I didn't want Jimmie to be young again. Not
if he had to take his youth from the hands of Ursula Simms!

There were many toasts before the supper ended--and the last one Jimmie
drank "To Ursula"! As he stood up to propose it, his glasses dangled
from their ribbon, his shoulders were squared. In the soft and shaded
light we were spared the gray in his hair--it was the old Jimmie, gay
and gallant!

"To Ursula!" he said, and the words sparkled. "To Ursula!"

I looked at Elise. She might have been the ghost of the woman who had
flamed in the old house in Albemarle. In her white and pearls she was
shadowy, unsubstantial, almost spectral, but she raised her glass. "To
Ursula!" she said.

All the way home on the train Duncan and I talked about it. We were
scared to death. "Oh, he mustn't, he must not," I kept saying, and
Duncan snorted.

"He's a young fool. She's not the woman for him--"

"Neither of them is the woman," I said, "but Elise has made him--"

"No man was ever held by gratitude."

"He'd hate Ursula in a year."

"He thinks he'd live--"

"And lose his soul--"

* * * * *

Jimmie's play opened to a crowded house. There had been extensive
advertising, and Ursula had a great following.

Elise and Duncan and I had seats in an upper box. Elise sat where she
was hidden by the curtains. Jimmie came and went unseen by the audience.
Between acts he was behind the scenes. Elise had little to say. Once she
reached over and laid her hand on mine.

"I--I think I'm frightened," she said, with a catch of her breath.

"It can't fail, my dear--"

"No, of course. But it's very different from what I expected."

"What is different?"

"Success."

As the great scene came closer, I seemed to hold my breath. I was so
afraid that the audience mi