difficult to tell which was the
angrier. The Bryces accused Isabelle, but for once she was innocent. She
had no idea how the reports started. She had talked to nobody. Miss
Watts corroborated this statement. Neither of them knew when the artist
made the sketch of her, and they never supposed that the photographers
were taking her picture.

Cartel was furious. It was not in his plans at all to let this youngster
take the middle of his stage on the occasion of his New York opening. He
would have dismissed her at once, had the newspaper talk not gone so
far. As it was he joined her parents heartily in a determined effort to
shut them off. But it couldn't be done. Isabelle had caught the public
eye; she was a marked personality, and editors played her up big.

Secretly she triumphed. It was only the beginning in the inevitable
recognition of her greatness. It strengthened her belief that she was of
the elect, and she rarely ever thought of the "Mary" part with which she
was actually to prove herself, but she hurled herself into the
development of the other Mary, which should have been hers, by all the
laws of right. The two creatures merged--were one. Once or twice at
rehearsal, aroused by her cue from some wonderful scene where Mary held
the spotlight, she faltered for a second for those barren lines of the
real Mary.

"What's the matter with you, Miss Bryce? Keep your mind on what you're
doing," warned Jenkins.

She smiled at him. Poor fool! In a few weeks he would be bragging that
he stage-managed her first appearance. She could afford to be patient
with his bad temper, now.

Dress rehearsal was called and became a fevered memory. The day of the
opening Isabelle spent quietly at home, except for a ride in the Park.
She was to rest, and have her supper in her sitting room. Wally came in,
in the midst of her repast, and fussed about her room.

"Aren't you nervous?" he inquired.

"Oh, no."

"I am. I'm so nervous I could scream!" he exploded. "I hate all this
notoriety. They say the house will be packed."

"We always like a full house," she said, serenely.

"Suppose you flunk it!"

"But I won't!"--promptly.

He looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"If you could only be kept in a cage, in the cellar!"

She laughed gaily at that.

"Poor old Wally! Don't fret. You'll be very proud of me some day."

Max floated in.

"I thought I heard laughter."

"You did," Isabelle replied.

"Are you cool enough to laugh