"Not to-day, then?"

"Not to-day," he would answer, and they would try to smile. But seeing
the stamp of suffering on his face, she said at last, "Tut, laddie! they
love too much who die for love."

On the Sunday afternoon following he turned again toward Clement's Inn.
He had come to a decision at last, and was calm and even content, yet his
happiness was like a gourd which had grown up in a day, and the morrow's
sun had withered it.

Glory had been to rehearsal every day that week. Going to the theatre on
Monday night she had said to herself, "There can be no harm in
rehearsing--I'm not compelled to play." Notwithstanding her nervousness,
the author had complimented her on her passion and self-abandonment, and
going home she had thought: "I might even go through the first
performance and then give it all up. If I had a success, that would be
beautiful, splendid, almost heroic--it would be thrilling to abandon
everything." Not hearing from John, she told herself he must be angry,
and she felt sorry for him. "He doesn't know yet how much I am going to
do." Thus the other woman in her tempted and overcame her, and drew her
on from day to day.

Mrs. Macrae sent Lord Robert to invite her to luncheon on Sunday. "There
can be no harm in going there," she thought. She went with Rosa, and was
charmed with the lively, gay, and brilliant company. Clever and beautiful
women, clever and handsome men, and nearly all of them of her own
profession. The mistress of the mansion kept open house after church
parade on Sunday, and she sat at the bottom of her table, dressed in
black velvet, with the Archdeacon on her right and a famous actor on her
left. Lord Robert sat at the head and talked to a lady whose remarks were
heard all over the room; but Lady Robert was nowhere to be seen; there
was a hush when her name was mentioned, and then a whispered rumour that
she had differences with her husband, and had scandalized her mother by
some act of indiscretion.

Glory's face beamed, and for the first half-hour she seemed to be on the
point of breaking into a rapturous "Well!" Nearly opposite to her at the
table sat a lady whose sleepy look and drowsy voice and airs of languor
showed that she was admired, and that she knew it. Glory found her very
amusing, and broke into little trills of laughter at her weary, withering
comments. This drew the attention of some of the men; they found the
contrast interesting. The conversation consisted