favour of her own
way, literally gasped in astonishment at his methods. She would have
liked to defy him openly a dozen times in a day, but Nap simply would
not be defied. He looked over her head with disconcerting arrogance, and
Dot found herself defeated and impotent. Dot had been selected for an
important part, and it was not very long before she came bitterly to
regret the fact. He did not bully her, but he gave her no peace. Over and
over again he sent her back to the same place; and over and over again he
found some fresh fault, till there came at length a day when Dot, weary
and exasperated, subsided suddenly in the midst of rehearsal into
indignant tears.

Nap merely raised his eyebrows and turned his attention elsewhere, while
Anne drew the sobbing girl away, and tried to soothe her back to
composure in privacy.

But it was some time before Dot would be comforted. Her grievance against
Nap was very deeply rooted, and it needed but this additional provocation
to break its bounds. It was not long before, clinging very tightly to
Anne, the whole story came out; how she and Bertie loved each other
"better than best," how no one was to know of it and they scarcely dared
to exchange a glance in public in consequence, how there could never,
never be any engagement, all because that horrid, horrid Nap had dared to
hint that she was pursuing Bertie for his money.

"I hate him!" sobbed Dot. "I do hate him! He's cruel and malicious and
vindictive. I know he means to prevent our ever being happy together.
And--and I know Bertie's afraid of him--and so am I!"

To all of which Anne listened with grave sympathy and such words of
comfort as seemed most likely to induce in Dot a calmer and more
reasonable state of mind.

But Dot was not to be reassured quickly. It was very seldom that her
equanimity was disturbed, only in fact when her deepest feelings were
concerned, and this made her breakdown the more complete. She
apologised tearfully for her foolishness at rehearsal, which she set
down to bodily fatigue. She had been to see poor Squinny that morning,
and she thought he really was dying at last. He had cried so, and she
hadn't known how to comfort him, and then when she had got home there
had been no time for luncheon, so she had just changed and come away
without it. And oh,--this with her arms tightly about Anne's neck--she
did wish she had a mother to help her. Poor Dad was very sweet, but he
didn't understand a bi