d me? You said 'admire'; did you perhaps find something
in me to like?"

"Who," he said with sincerity, "could help himself! Of course I've
seen you and remarked you with your friend."

Here she bit her lip and put up her hand. "Oh, please," she frowned,
"Oh, please!"

Bulstrode, surprised at her accents of distress, murmured an excuse and
said he was much at fault, he should remember. But here the girl
smiled. "Well, it is not exactly a duty to know me; my name is not
quite unknown. I play in 'The Shining Lights Company,' 'The Warren
Company,' I am Felicia Warren--_now_, haven't you seen me play!"

He was sorry, very, very sorry that he had not! Oh, but he knew her
name and her success; they were famous. He wished he could have
assured her that he had admired her before the footlights ...!

Felicia Warren's eyes strayed down at the table on which the money was
so alluringly spread.

"I've been touring in Australia and the Colonies, still I go now and
then to the Continent, though I am almost always in London." She
paused, then regarded him fully with her great blue eyes. "Don't you
remember, Mr. Bulstrode, a great many years ago when you took a
shooting-box in Glousceshire? Don't you remember...?"

Staring at her, trying to place the image which was now taking form, he
did; he _did_ remember it and she?

"There was a mill there on the place. Rugby Doan was the miller, he is
the miller still." Didn't Mr. Bulstrode remember that Doan had a
daughter? She had been fifteen years old then, she had ambitions, she
was altogether a ridiculous and silly little thing; didn't he remember?

Bulstrode was silent.

The gentleman, Mr. Bulstrode, took a strong liking to Doan; he gave him
the money to educate his daughter. Oh, dear me, such a generous lot of
money! Then, as the girl was extraordinarily silly (she had ambitions)
she went on the stage. Her father never forgave her; poor father! She
had never seen him since. "Mr. Bulstrode, don't you remember Felicia
Doan?--I am the miller's daughter."

Bulstrode extended his hand. He wanted to say: "My poor child, my poor
little girl," but Miss Warren's dignity forbade it. "No wonder your
face was familiar," he said quietly; "no wonder! How I wish I might
have seen you play, but we must do something to make your father look
at things in a reasonable way. What can we do?"

The girl shook her head. "Nothing" she said absently, "oh, nothing.
You know wh