at actresses are temperamental. I suppose I am a great
actress. Do you think I am, Philip?"

He was following her down-stairs now. He found it hard, however, to
imitate the flippancy of her tone.

"The critics insist upon it," he observed drily. "Evidently your audience
last night shared their opinion."

She nodded.

"I love them to applaud like that, and yet--audiences don't really know,
do they? Perhaps--"

She relapsed into silence, and they took their places in the car. She
settled herself down with a little sigh of content and drew the rug over
her.

"As far as you can go, John," she told the man, "but you must get back at
six o'clock. The country, mind--not the shore."

They started off.

"So you were there last night?" she murmured, leaning back amongst the
cushions with an air of relief.

"I was there for a few moments. I wrote my note to you in the box
office."

She shook the memory away.

"And afterwards?"

"I went to one of the clubs down-town."

"What did you do there?" she enquired. "Gossip?"

"Some of the men were very kind to me," he said. "I had supper with Noel
Bridges, amongst others."

"Well?" she asked, almost defiantly.

"I don't understand."

She looked intently at him for a moment.

"I forgot," she went on. "You are very chivalrous, aren't you? You
wouldn't ask questions.... See, I am going to close my eyes. It is too
horrible here, and all through Brooklyn. When we are in the lanes I can
talk. This is just one of those days I wish that we were in England. All
our country is either suburban or too wild and restless. Can you be
content with silence for a little time?"

"Of course," he assured her. "Besides, you forget that I am in a strange
country. Everything is worth watching."

They passed over Brooklyn Bridge, and for an hour or more they made slow
progress through the wide-flung environs of the city. At last, however,
the endless succession of factories and small tenement dwellings lay
behind them. They passed houses with real gardens, through stretches of
wood whose leaves were opening, whose branches were filled with the
sweet-smelling sap of springtime. Elizabeth seemed to wake almost
automatically from a kind of stupor. She pushed back her veil, and
Philip, stealing eager glances towards her, was almost startled by some
indefinable change. Her face seemed more delicate, almost the face of an
invalid, and she lay back there with half-closed eyes. The strength of