t that as Helen took so little
interest in his success he could not dare to trouble her with his
anxieties concerning it, and she attributed his silence to his
preoccupation and interest in Marion. So the two grew apart, each
misunderstanding the other and each troubled in spirit at the other's
indifference.

The first night of the play justified all that Marion and Wimpole had
claimed for it, and was a great personal triumph for the new
playwright. The audience was the typical first-night audience of the
class which Charles Wimpole always commanded. It was brilliant,
intelligent, and smart, and it came prepared to be pleased.

From one of the upper stage-boxes Helen and Lady Gower watched the
successful progress of the play with an anxiety almost as keen as that
of the author. To Helen it seemed as though the giving of these lines
to the public--these lines which he had so often read to her, and
altered to her liking--was a desecration. It seemed as though she were
losing him indeed--as though he now belonged to these strange people,
all of whom were laughing and applauding his words, from the German
Princess in the Royal box to the straight-backed Tommy in the pit.
Instead of the painted scene before her, she saw the birch-trees by
the river at home, where he had first read her the speech to which
they were now listening so intensely--the speech in which the hero
tells the girl he loves her. She remembered that at the time she had
thought how wonderful it would be if some day some one made such a
speech to her--not Philip, but a man she loved. And now? If Philip
would only make that speech to her now!

He came out at last, with Wimpole leading him, and bowed across a
glaring barrier of lights at a misty but vociferous audience that was
shouting the generous English bravo! and standing up to applaud. He
raised his eyes to the box where Helen sat, and saw her staring down
at the tumult, with her hands clasped under her chin. Her face was
colorless, but lit with the excitement of the moment; and he saw that
she was crying.

Lady Gower, from behind her, was clapping her hands delightedly.

"But, my dear Helen," she remonstrated, breathlessly, "you never told
me he was so good-looking."

"Yes," said Helen, rising abruptly, "he is--very good-looking."

She crossed the box to where her cloak was hanging, but instead of
taking it down, buried her face in its folds.

"My dear child!" cried Lady Gower, in dismay. "Wha