ld not forget the many, many
times when I had spoken so nearly in the same way without meaning or
belief, and each speech seemed to me a mockery. Though I longed with
all of me to speak simply and sincerely--knowing that I spoke the
truth--I hardly seemed to myself to be doing it. All appeared a part,
but a repetition of the many times before when I had played a
part--when what I did was a comedy--a farce--a tragedy!"

She broke off with a sob.

"You have cried wolf pretty often," avowed Mrs. Brough.

"I am a Cassandra," said the girl, instantly. "When I wish to be
believed I cannot. When all that is most precious and dearest to me
depends on it I cannot be trusted. I may speak, but I shall not be
heard--when all my life is in being heard--I know it."

"You see," said Mrs. Brough, "when I told him I thought of you as you
seemed----"

"As I was. I don't blame you," Miriam cried, bitterly. "What I had
become! Let me tell you." She sat down again, and, with her elbows on
her knees and her chin on her hands, gazed fixedly at the other. "I
think I began innocently enough. I wanted to be liked--and I fell into
the way of saying pleasant little things. I tried to make everybody
contented and pleased with me. That was when I came out. Indeed, I may
say for myself that I had a sympathetic nature. I could not bear to
see anyone uncomfortable or doubtful about themselves or anything,
without trying to help them. Surely that was not bad?"

"No," said Mrs. Brough, slowly.

"I really wished to help every one," she continued. "And the best way
that I found to do it was to say pleasant things. It was easy--too
fatally easy. When I discovered how popular this made me I kept on. I
continued for myself what I had really begun for others. Insensibly I
acquired skill. I was not stupid. I had rather a gift for
character--and could say exactly the thing to each one to flatter them
the most. I found that I took pleasure in the exercise of such
cleverness. There was a feeling of power in it--playing with the
foibles and weaknesses of men and women. I did not see that I was
often trafficking in unworthiness and baseness."

"I've no doubt you did harm," concluded Mrs. Brough. "People are only
too willing to be encouraged in their vanities. I don't think, Miriam,
that you were really very good for a person's character."

"I was not very good for my own," Miriam went on, grimly. "I
retrograded. I can see it now. In playing on the follies