o get out of it?'

'You had thought,' said Kendal, 'I remember, of Mrs. Pearson for the
heroine.'

'Yes; I should have tried her. She is not first-rate, but at least she is
intelligent; she understands something of what you want in a part like
that. But for poor Isabel Bretherton, and those about her, the great
points in the play will be that she will have long speeches and be able
to wear "medieval" dresses! I don't suppose she ever heard of Aragon in
her life. Just imagine her playing a high-born Spanish woman of the
fifteenth century! Can't you see her?'

'Well, after all,' said Kendal, with a little laugh, 'I should see what
the public goes for mostly--that is to say, Isabel Bretherton in
effective costume. No, it would be a great failure--not a failure, of
course, in the ordinary sense. Her beauty, the medieval get-up, and the
romantic plot of the piece, would carry it through, and, as you say, you
would probably make a great deal by it. But, artistically, it would be a
ghastly failure. And Hawes! Hawes, I suppose, would play Macias? Good
heavens!'

'Yes,' said Wallace, leaning his head on his hands and looking gloomily
out of window at the spire of St. Bride's Church. 'Pleasant, isn't it?
But what on earth am I to do? I never was in a greater hole. I'm not the
least in love with that girl, Kendal, but there isn't anything she asked
me to do for her that I wouldn't do if I could. She's the warmest-hearted
creature--one of the kindest, frankest, sincerest women that ever
stepped. I feel at times that I'd rather cut my hand off than hurt her
feelings by throwing her offer in her face, and yet, that play has been
the apple of my eye to me for months; the thought of seeing it spoilt by
clumsy handling is intolerable to me.'

'I suppose it would hurt her feelings,' said Kendal meditatively, 'if you
refused?'

'Yes,' said Wallace emphatically; 'I believe it would wound her
extremely. You see, in spite of all her success, she is beginning to be
conscious that there are two publics in London. There is the small
fastidious public of people who take the theatre seriously, and there is
the large easy-going public who get the only sensation they want out of
her beauty and her personal prestige. The enthusiasts have no difficulty,
as yet, in holding their own against the scoffers, and for a long time
Miss Bretherton knew and cared nothing for what the critical people said,
but of late I have noticed at times that she kno