ined, and there was a fighting look in her
eye.

"So am I, Mrs. Shaw, most uncommonly sorry," returned Fitzroy, patting
his sleek hair and feeling that his will was adamant, however pretty
Mrs. Shaw might be.

"Of course, I shouldn't have thought of taking the part away from Mrs.
Stewart," she resumed, glancing at Milly, not without meaning, "but Mr.
Morrison asked me to take it quite a fortnight ago. I've learned most of
it and rehearsed two scenes already with him. He says they go capitally,
and we both think it seems rather a pity to waste all that labor and
change the part now."

Fitzroy cast a look at Mrs. Stewart which was meant to call up
reinforcements from that quarter; but as she sat there quite silent, he
cleared his throat and begun:

"It's an awful bore, of course, but I fancy it's about three weeks or a
month since I first asked Mrs. Stewart to play the lead--isn't it, Mrs.
Stewart?"

Milly muttered assent, horribly suspecting a lie. A flash of indignant
scorn from Mrs. Shaw confirmed the suspicion.

"Mrs. Stewart said something quite different when I spoke to her about
it at tennis on Friday. Didn't you, Mildred?" she asked.

Milly crimsoned.

"Did I?" she stammered. "I'm afraid I've got a dreadfully bad
memory--for--for dates of that kind."

Mrs. Shaw smiled coldly. Mr. Fitzroy felt himself deceived in Mrs.
Stewart as an ally. He had counted on her promised support, on her wit
and spirit to carry him through, and her conduct was simply cowardly.

"The fact is, Mrs. Shaw," he said, "Jim Morrison's not bossing this show
at all. That's where the mistake has come in. My aunt, Lady Wolvercote,
is a bit of an autocrat, don't you know, and she doesn't like us fellows
to arrange things on our own account. If she knew you I'm sure she'd see
what a splendid Galatea you'd make, but as it is she's set her heart on
getting Mrs. Stewart from the very first."

Had he stopped here his position would have been good, but an indignant
instinct, urging him to push the reluctant Mrs. Stewart into the proper
place of woman--that natural shield of man against all the social
disagreeables he brings on himself--made Fitzroy rush into the fatal
detail.

"My aunt told you so at the Masonic; didn't she, Mrs. Stewart?"

Milly, under the young man's imperious eye, assented feebly, but Mrs.
Shaw laughed. She perfectly remembered Mildred having mentioned on that
very occasion that she did not know Lady Wolvercote by si