rother's voice that he, too, was choking
with indignation, and she dreaded the meeting with him and with
Westervelt. She was sustained by the hope that Douglass would be there
to share her punishment. "Why had he not shown himself?" she asked
again, with growing resentment.

When she came out fully dressed she looked tired and pale, but her head
was high and her manner proudly self-contained.

Westervelt, surrounded by a small group of depressed auditors, among
whom were Mrs. MacDavitt, Hugh, and Royleston, was holding forth in a
kind of bellow. "It proves what? Simply that they will not have her in
these preachy domestic parts, that's all. Every time she tries it she
gets a 'knock.' I complain, I advise to the contrary. Does it do any
good? No. She must chance it, all to please this crank, this reformer."

The mother, reading the disappointment and suffering in Helen's white
face, reached for her tremulously and drew her to her bosom. "Never
mind what they say, Nellie; it was beautiful and it was true."

Even Westervelt was awed by the calm look Helen turned on the group.
"You are very sure of yourself, Mr. Westervelt, but to my mind this
night only proves that this audience came to hear me without intelligent
design." She faced the silent group with white and weary face.
"Certainly Mr. Douglass's play is not for such an audience as that which
has been gathering to see me as _The Baroness_, but that does not mean
that I have no other audience. There is a public for me in this higher
work. If there isn't, I will retire."

Westervelt threw his hands in the air with a tragic gesture. "Retire! My
Gott, that would be insanity!"

Helen turned. "Come, mother, you are tired, and so am I. Mr. Westervelt,
this is no place for this discussion. Good-night." She bowed to the
friends who had loyally gathered to greet her. "I am grateful to you for
your sympathy."

There was, up to this time, no word of the author; but Hugh, as he
walked by her side, broke out resentfully, "Do you know that beggar
playwright--"

"Not a word of him, Hugh," she said. "You don't know what that poor
fellow is suffering. Our disappointment is nothing in comparison with
his. Think of what he has lost."

"Nonsense! He has lost nothing, because he had nothing to lose. He gets
us involved--"

"Hugh!" There was something in her utterance of his name which silenced
him more effectually than a blow. "I produced this play of my own free
will," she ad