and beautiful,
and do you know I believe it would touch more hearts than your gorgeous
melodrama. Mr. Howells somewhere beautifully says that when he is most
intimate in the disclosures of his own feelings he finds himself most
widely responded to--or something like that. I really am eager to do
this play. It has increased my wonder of your powers. I really begin to
feel that I know only part of you. First _Lillian's Duty_ taught me some
of your stern Scotch morality. Then _Enid's Choice_ revealed to me your
conception of the integrity of a good woman's soul--that nothing can
debase it. _Alessandra_ disclosed your learning and your imaginative
power. Now here I feel the poet, the imaginative boy. I will not say
this has increased my faith in you--it has added to my knowledge of you.
But I must confess to you it has made it very difficult for me to go on
with _Alessandra_. All the other plays are in line of a national drama.
_Alessandra_ is a bitter and ironical concession. _The Morning_ makes
its splendor almost tawdry. It hurt me to go to rehearsal to-day.
Westervelt's presence was a gloating presence, and I hated him. Hugh's
report of the exultant 'I told you so's' of the dramatic critics
sickened me--" Her letter ended abruptly, almost at this point.

His reply contained these words: "It is not singular that you feel
irritated by _Alessandra_ while I am growing resigned, for you are in
daily contact with the sordid business. Tell me I may come back. I want
to be at the opening. I know you will secure a great personal triumph. I
want to see you shining again amid a shower of roses. I want to help
take your horses from your carriage, and wheel you in glory through the
streets as they used to do in olden times as tribute to their great
favorites. I haven't seen a New York paper since I came West. I hope you
have put _Enid_ away. What is the use wearing yourself out playing a
disastrous role while forced to rehearse a new one? My longing to see
you is so great that the sight of your picture on my desk is a sweet
torture. Write me that you want me, dearest."

She replied, very simply: "You may come. Our opening night is now fixed
for Monday next. You will have just time to get here. All is well."

To this he wired reply: "I start to-night. Arrive on Monday at Grand
Central. Eleven-thirty."

* * * * *

Helen was waiting for him at the gate of the station in a beautiful
spring hat, her fa