against his protest.

"I do some other kind of writing."

"As--"

"Oh, no! I'm not here to interview myself."

"Oh, but you ought. I know you've written something--some novel. Your
name was so familiar from the first." Mr. Ray laughed and shook his head
in mockery of her cheap device. "You mustn't be vexed because I'm so
vague about it. I'm very ignorant."

"You said you were from Boston."

"But there are Bostons and Bostons. The Boston that I belonged to never
hears of American books till they are forgotten!"

"Ah, how famous I must be there!"

"I see you are determined to be bad. But I remember now; it was a play.
Haven't you written a play?" He held up three fingers. "I knew it! What
was it?"

"My plays," said the young fellow, with a mock of superiority, "have
never been played. I've been told that they are above the heads of an
audience. It's a great consolation. But now, really, about Mr.
Maxwell's. When is it to be given here? I hoped very much that I might
happen on the very time."

Louise hesitated a moment, and then she said: "You know he has taken it
back from Godolphin." It was not so hard to say this as it was at first,
but it still required resolution.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" said Mr. Ray. "I never thought he appreciated it. He
was so anxious to make his part all in all that he would have been
willing to damage the rest of it irretrievably. I could see, from the
way he talked of it, that he was mortally jealous of Salome; and the
girl who did that did it very sweetly and prettily. Who has got the play
now?"

"Well," said Louise, with rather a painful smile, "nobody has it at
present. We're trying to stir up strife for it among managers."

"What play is that?" asked her friend, the hostess, and all that end of
the table became attentive, as any fashionable company will at the
mention of a play; books may be more or less out of the range of
society, but plays never at all.

"My husband's," said Louise, meekly.

"Why, does _your_ husband write _plays_?" cried the lady.

"What did you think he did?" returned Louise, resentfully; she did not
in the least know what her friend's husband did, and he was no more
there to speak for himself than her own.

"He's written a very _great_ play," Mr. Ray spoke up with generous
courage; "the very greatest American play I have seen. I don't say ever
written, for I've written some myself that I haven't seen yet," he
added, and every one laughed at his bit