ce abloom, her eyes dancing, and the sight of her
robbed him of all caution. Dropping his valise, he rushed towards her,
intent to take her in his arms.

She stopped him with one outstretched hand. "How well you look!" Her
voice, so rich, so vibrant, moved him like song.

"And you--you are the embodiment of spring." Then, in a low voice, close
to her ear, he added: "I love you! I love you! How beautiful you are!"

"Hush!" She lifted a finger in a gesture of warning. "You must not say
such things to me--here." With the addition of that final word her face
grew arch. Then in a louder tone: "I was right, was I not, to send you
away?"

"I am a new being," he answered, "morally and physically. But tell me,
what is the meaning of these notices? Have you put _The Morning_ on in
place of _Alessandra_?"

Hugh interposed. "That's what she's done," and offered his hand with
unexpected cordiality.

"You take my breath away," said Douglass. "I can't follow your reckless
campaigns."

"We'll explain. We're not as reckless as we seem."

They began to move towards the street, Hugh leading the way with the
playwright's bag.

Helen laughed at her lover's perplexity and dismay. "You look
befoozled."

"I am. I can't understand. After all that work and expense--after all my
toilsome grind--my sacrifice of principles."

She was close to his shoulder as she said, looking up at him with
beaming, tender eyes:

"That's just it. I couldn't accept your offering. After _The Morning_
came in, my soul revolted. I ordered the _Alessandra_ manuscript brought
in. Do you know what I did with it?"

"Rewrote it, I hope."

Her face expressed daring, humor, triumph, but the hand lifted to the
chin expressed a little apprehension as she replied: "Rewrote it? No, I
didn't think of that. _I burned it._"

He stopped, unconscious of the streaming crowds. "Burned it! I can't
believe you. My greatest work--"

"It is gone." The smile died out of her eyes, her face became very grave
and very sweet. "I couldn't bear to have you bow your head to please a
public not worthy of you. The play was un-American, and should not have
been written by you."

He was dazed by the enormous consequences of this action, and his mind
flashed from point to point before he answered, in a single word:
"Westervelt."

Thereat they both laughed, and she explained. "It was dreadful. He
raged, he shook the whole block as he trotted to and fro tearing his
hair. I think