from the unknown world beyond, whom she mystifies by her quaint
old-worldishness. Searles had taken an old theme and given a novel twist
to it. The solution of the mystery of the father's exile and an amusing
complication of lovers afforded a suspensive interest well sustained to
the end. There were innumerable charming scenes, as where the girl in
the outlandish costume in which she roamed the hills perches on a
boulder and recites the "Iliad" to her suitors. In the last act she
appears at a ball at a country house in sophisticated raiment, and the
story ends in the key of mirth in which it began.

It was a delightful blending and modernization of Diana, Atalanta,
Cinderella, and Rosalind; but even in the typewritten page it was
amazingly alive and well calculated to evoke tears and laughter. That a
play so enthralling should be buried in a safety-vault was not to be
thought of, and I sat down and wrote Searles a long letter demanding
that he at once forget the lost star for whom he had written the piece,
suggesting the names of several well-known actresses I thought worth
considering for the difficult leading role. Not satisfied with this, I
telephoned a telegram to the agent at Barton for transmission to
Searles at the Ohio address he had given me.

The next day passed without incident, and on the second, hearing nothing
from Torrence, I began to doubt Mrs. Bashford's proximity. On the third,
still hearing nothing, I harkened to an invitation from friends at New
London and drove over in the runabout for dinner. It was midnight when I
got back, and when I reached the gates several men dashed out of the
lodge and halted me.

"She's come, sir," announced Antoine, emerging from the darkness, and
speaking under stress of deep emotion; "madame the widow has arrived,
sir!"

"Why not Cleopatra or the Queen of Sheba?" I exclaimed testily to cover
my annoyance that my aunt had effected her descent in my absence. "Well,
she was expected; the house is hers; what do you want me to do about
it?" I ended with affected jocularity.

"We received her the best we could; but it was most unfortunate, your
not being here, sir."

"Is that your idea, Antoine, or do you reflect the lady's sentiments?
I'm properly humiliated either way. Tell me just what she said."

"Well, sir, she just laughed when I took the liberty of apologizing."

"The sneering laughter of outraged dignity! Go ahead and give me the
rest of it."

"It was at te