contest, dressed and went out for a short walk. The air calmed her, and
she gained a respite from the self-examination for an hour. Then, after
making an effort to eat some breakfast, she sat down to smoke a
cigarette and think again about Lionel. What was he like, the real man,
the true Lionel? Was he a man to be trusted, a man to be relied on, the
sort of man, so to speak, one would like (supposing it were possible) to
marry? Lionel as a husband.... "Husband" brought a smile, a blush and a
frown to the face of Beatrice, and it is to be hoped that the shade of
Lukos noticed the blush as well as the smile. "Heavens! and I have
only known him a week!" thought Beatrice with self-chastisement:
"besides ..." Precisely! There are so many "besideses" in real life.

But undoubtedly, and without any disloyalty to shades, living or
otherwise, he was the dearest of boys. He had behaved extraordinarily
well throughout--extraordinarily well, for actresses have unique
opportunities of studying man's weakness--not only in the cab and the
dressing-room, but during the week of voluntary imprisonment. Polished,
controlled, devoted without being tiresome, he was certainly the dearest
of boys. Human, too, and humanity was a quality that appealed to
Beatrice; nor did he lack a sense of humor and romance. But she had only
known him for a week, and could she possibly form an adequate judgment
in such a period? "He may be acting all the time," she thought with a
dismal pucker of the forehead, "and I ought to know how easy it can be
to act. What a fool I am to worry over things!"

She threw away the half-smoked cigarette with a petulant gesture and
continued to worry. The remembrance of Mizzi flashed across her
mind--her prettiness and Lionel's evasive declarations. These had been
glib enough, no doubt, but glibness and dexterity were not sufficient to
lull the suspicions of Beatrice. "He is a man," she argued angrily,
perversely pleased in lashing her apprehensions, "and a bachelor. What
else could one expect? Of course, he may not have kissed her, but.... If
he has, well ... what right have I to...."

Her petulance increased with every moment, and when the bell rang about
ten o'clock she felt more like a naughty ill-tempered child than
anything else. Remembering that now she had no maid, she controlled
herself and opened the door. Her face cleared, for on the threshold
stood a man she liked, her manager.

"Hullo, Ashford!" she said. "Co