spicions to be, she could not help asking herself how it was
that she had gained so little of Claire's confidence in a summer's
association. And Priscilla's face, too, was overcast, but for a
different reason.

"Peggy," she exclaimed abruptly, "do you know I feel as if I'd been
looking at myself in the mirror."

"Then you ought to feel more cheerful than you look," returned Peggy
with a sweeping glance, and a smile, designed to express her conviction
that Priscilla was an unusually handsome girl.

But Priscilla was not to be turned aside by the little compliment. "It
isn't any reason to be cheerful. I mean, Peggy, that this affair with
Claire has just helped to show me what I'm like myself."

Peggy broke into excited protests, to which Priscilla listened unmoved.

"It's exactly the same thing. I've been jealous of Elaine in just the
same way she has been jealous of you. And both of us called it love,
when all the time it was just the meanest kind of selfishness. I wonder
why it is that your faults never look very bad till you see them in
somebody else."

"If you imagine that you're like Claire Fendall," interjected Peggy,
seething with indignation, "you're badly mistaken, that's all."

But glad as Priscilla would have been to accept the comforting assurance
she shook her head with decision. "It's exactly the same thing," she
insisted. "But I really hope--Why, Peggy, what's the matter?"

If Peggy's convulsive movement had not been sufficient to account for
the startled question, the expression of her face was abundant ground
for the inquiry. "Why, Peggy," Priscilla repeated in real consternation,
"what is it? What has happened?"

"I never thought of it till this minute. She's spoiled everything."

"Who? Claire? What has she spoiled?"

"Our play," groaned Peggy. "It comes off on Tuesday, and has been
advertised in the last three issues of the _Arena_. We can't
possibly find anybody to take her place. What are we going to do?"

"Dorothea Clarke played it last June. Why not telegraph for her to come
up. We just can't have a fizzle at the last minute."

"Why, Dolly Clarke is in California! Somebody spoke of it in a letter
only last week." Peggy groaned again. "I wonder if Claire didn't think
that her going would spoil everything. Or if she just didn't care."

Priscilla was inclined to favor the latter hypothesis, yet even in her
resentment she realized that any amount of criticism of Claire would not
save the