them in their groupings and exits, which kept him on his feet and keyed
to high nervous tension for hours at a time, so that each day his limbs
ached and his head swam at the close of the last act.

He marvelled at Helen's endurance and at her self-restraint. She was
always ready to interpose gently when hot shot began to fly, and could
generally bring about a laugh and a temporary truce by some pacific
word.

Hugh and Westervelt both came to her to say: "Tell Douglass to let up.
He expects too much of these people. He's got 'em rattled. Tell him to
go and slide down-hill somewhere."

"I can't do that," she answered. "It's his play--his first
play--and--he's right. He has an ideal, and it will do us all good to
live up to it."

To this Hugh replied, with bitterness, "You're too good to him. I wish
you weren't quite so--" He hesitated. "They're beginning to talk about
it."

"About what?" she asked, quickly.

"About his infatuation."

Her eyes grew steady and penetrating, but a slow, faint flush showed her
self-consciousness. "Who are talking?"

"Westervelt--the whole company." He knew his sister and wished he had
not spoken, but he added: "The fellows on the street have noticed it.
How could they help it when you walk with him and eat with him and ride
with him?"

"Well?" she asked, with defiant inflection. "What is to follow? Am I to
govern my life to suit Westervelt or the street? I admire and respect
Mr. Douglass very much. He has more than one side to him. I am sick of
the slang of the Rialto and the greenroom. I'm tired of cheap witticisms
and of gossip. With Mr. Douglass I can discuss calmly and rationally
many questions which trouble me. He helps me. To talk with him enables
me to take a deep breath and try again. He enables me to forget the
stage for a few hours."

Hugh remained firm. "But there's your own question--what's to be the end
of it? You can't do this without getting talked about."

She smiled, and the glow of her humor disarmed him. "Sufficient unto the
end is the evil thereof. I don't think you need to worry--"

Hugh was indeed greatly troubled. He began to dislike and suspect
Douglass. They had been antipathetic from the start, and no advance on
the author's part could bring the manager nearer. It was indeed true
that the young playwright was becoming a marked figure on the street,
and the paragrapher of _The Saucy Swells_ spoke of him not too obscurely
as the lucky winner of "our mo