among the actors, but the thought of one so sovereign as Helen in the
midst of a region so squalid stung him. He was jealous of the actors,
the scene-shifters, who were permitted to see her come and go.

He was reserved and rather pale, but perfectly self-contained, as he
entered the little reception-hall leading to her dressing-room. He
faced her with a sense of dread--apprehensive of some disenchantment.
She met him cordially, without the slightest reference to her make-up,
which was less offensive than he had feared; but he winced,
nevertheless, at the vulgarity of her part so skilfully suggested by
paint and powder. She gave him her hand with a frank gesture. "You
didn't applaud my scenes to-night," she said, with a smile as enigmatic
as the one she used in _The Baroness_.

His voice was curt with emotion as he replied, "No, I did not; I
couldn't. They saddened me."

"What do you mean?" she asked, with a startled, anxious paling beneath
her rouge.

His voice was low, but fiercely reproachful in answer. "I mean you
should treat your beautiful self and your splendid art with greater
consideration."

"You mean I should not be playing such women? I know it--I hate them.
But no one ever accused me of taking my art lightly. I work harder on
these uncongenial roles than upon any other. They require infinitely
more effort, because I loathe them so."

"I mean more than that. I am afraid to have you simulate such passions.
They will leave their mark on you. It is defilement. Your womanhood is
too fine, too beautiful to be so degraded."

She put her hand to her bosom and looked about her restlessly. His
intensity scared her. "I know what you mean, but let us not talk of that
now; let us discuss your play. I want to suggest something for your
third act, but I must dress now. You will wait, won't you? We will have
a few minutes before I go on. Please sit here and wait for me."

He acquiesced silently, as was his fashion. There was little of the
courtier about him, but he became very ill at ease as he realized how
significant his waiting must seem to those who saw him there. Deeply in
the snare as he was, this sitting beside an actress's dressing-room door
became intolerable to his arrogant soul, and he was about to flee when
Hugh came back and engaged him in conversation. So gratified was
Douglass for this kindness, he made himself agreeable till such time as
Helen, in brilliant evening-dress, came out; and when Hugh