actress. Her real
self now became more complex than his wildest imagined ideal of her.
That this sweet and reflective girl should be the actress was as
difficult to understand as that _The Baroness_ should be at heart a good
woman. For five minutes he hardly heard what she said, so busy was his
mind readjusting itself to this abrupt displacement of values. With
noiseless suddenness all the lurid light which the advertiser had
thrown around the star died away. The faces which mocked and mourned,
the clutching hands, the lines of barbaric ornaments, the golden goblets
of debauchery, the jewelled daggers, the poison phials--all those
accessories, designed to produce the siren of the posters, faded out,
and he found himself face to face with a human being like himself, a
thoughtful, self-contained, and rather serious American girl of
twenty-six or twenty-eight years of age.

Not merely this, but her attitude towards him was that of a pupil. She
lifted eyes to him as to one occupying an intellectual height. She began
to tell him how much she enjoyed his little book on the drama, which a
friend had recommended to her, but as soon as he had fairly recovered
himself he led her away from his own work. "I am supposed to be an
architect," he explained. "I write of the stage because I love it--and
because I am a failure in my profession. My book is a very slight and
unambitious attempt."

"But you know the stage and its principles," she insisted; "and your
view of the future is an inspiration to those of us who wish to do good
work. Your letter was very helpful to me, for I am deeply discouraged
just now. I am disgusted with the drama in which I work. I am weary of
these unwholesome parts. You are quite right, I shall never do my best
work so long as I am forced to assume such uncongenial roles. They are
all false, every one of them. They are good acting roles, as acting
goes; but I want plays that I can live as well as act. But my manager
tells me that the public will not have me in anything else. Do you think
they would? Is he right?" She ended in appeal.

"I think the public will take you at your best in anything you do," he
replied, with grave gallantry. "I don't know that managers are
omniscient. They are only men like the rest of us."

She smiled. "That is high treason; but I'm very much inclined to believe
it is true. I am willing to concede that a theatre must be made to pay,
but I am not content to think that this spl