itely--as long as the show ran. And yet I
never thought of your going away. It's always seemed that you were the
show--or, rather, that the show was you; just something that you made
go. It doesn't seem possible that it can keep on going with you not
there."

The sincerity of that made it a really fine compliment--just the sort
of compliment he'd appreciate. But--the old perversity again--the very
freedom with which she said it spoiled it for him.

"I may be missed," he said--it was more of a growl really--"but I shan't
be regretted. There's always a sort of Hallelujah chorus set up by the
company when they realize I'm gone."

"I shall regret it very much," said Rose. The words would have set his
blood on fire if she'd just faltered over them. But she didn't. She was
hopelessly serene about it. "You're the person who's made this six weeks
bearable and, in a way, wonderful. I never could thank you enough for
the things you've done for me, though I hope I may try to some time."

"I don't want any thanks," he said. And this was completely true. It was
something very different from gratitude that he wanted. But he realized
how abominably ungracious his words sounded, and hastened to amend them.
"What I mean is that you don't owe me any. Anything I've done that's
worked out to your advantage was done because I believed it was to the
advantage of the men who hired me--beginning with the afternoon when I
first took you on in the chorus."

This didn't satisfy him either. Rose said nothing. He had indeed left
her nothing to say. But there was a look of perplexity in her eyes--as
if she were casting about for some stupidly tactless act or omission of
her own to account for his surliness--that made him recant altogether.

"I don't know why in the world I should have said a thing like that!" he
burst out. "It wasn't true. I've wanted to do things for you--wanted to
do more than I could, and I want to still. You've done a lot to make
this show go, as well as it did, in more ways than you know about. It
wasn't for me, personally, that you did it. But all the same, I'm
grateful. And it's to convince you of that that I asked you to come
around here to-night."

She really lighted up over his praise, thanked him for it very
prettily. But then, after a little silence, she went on reflectively,
"It was, in a way, for you, personally, that I was working all the time.
I don't know if I can explain that, though I think I understand it