e mothering instinct
in women. I know that my first feeling for you was that I wanted to help
you. Tell me what you think of yourself, Mr. Philip Merton Ware? Are you
a faithful person? Are you conscientious? Have you a heart, I wonder? How
much of the man is there underneath that strong frame of yours? Are you
going to take just the things that are given you in life, and make no
return? For the moment, you see, I am forgetting that you are my friend
and that I like you. I am thinking of you from the point of view of an
actress--as a psychical problem. Philip, you idiot!" she broke off,
suddenly stamping her foot, "don't sit there looking at me with your
great eyes. Tell me you are glad I've come back. Tell me you feel
something, for goodness' sake!"

He was on his knees before she could check him, his arms, his lips
praying for her. She thrust him back.

"It was my fault," she declared, "but don't, please. Yes, of course you
have feelings. I don't know why you tempted me to that little outburst."

"You'll tempt me to more than that," he cried passionately. "Do you think
it's for your help that I've thought of you? Do you think it's because
you're an angel to me, because you've comforted me in my darkest, most
miserable hours that I've dreamed of you and craved for you? There's more
than that in my thoughts, dear. It's because you are you, yourself, that
I've longed for you through the aching hours of the night, that I've sat
and written like a man beside himself just for the joy of thinking that
the words I wrote would be spoken by you. Oh! if you want me to tell you
what I feel--"

She suddenly leaned forward, took his head between her hands and kissed
his forehead.

"Now get back, please, to your chair," she begged. "You've stilled the
horrible, miserable little doubt that was tearing at my heartstrings. I
just had it before, once or twice, and then--isn't it foolish!--your
telling me about this little typewriter girl! I must go and see her. We
must be kind to her."

He resumed his seat with a little sigh.

"She thought a great deal more of me and my work when I told her that you
were probably going to act in my play."

Her expression changed. She was more serious, at the same time more
eager.

"Ah! The play!" she exclaimed. "I can see that you have brought some of
it."

He drew the roll of manuscript from his pocket.

"Shall I read it?" he suggested.

She almost snatched it away. "No! I can't wait fo