ered the cocktails. "Louise has been quite lost without you, too."

"I didn't want to go away," she sighed, "but I do get so tired of not
working! Although my part wasn't worth anything, I hated it being cut
out. It makes one feel so aimless. One has too much time to think."

He laughed at her, pleasantly but derisively.

"Time to think!" he repeated. "Why, I have never seen you serious for
five minutes in your life, except when you've been adding up Louise's
housekeeping-books!"

She threw her cigarette into the grate, swung round toward him, and
looked steadily into his face.

"Haven't you?" she said. "I can be. I often am. It isn't my correct
pose, though. People don't like me serious. If they take me out or
entertain me, they think they are being cheated if I am not continually
gay. You see what it is to have a reputation for being amusing! Louise
keeps me by her side to talk nonsense to her, to keep her from being
depressed. Men take me out because I am bright, because I save them the
trouble of talking, and they don't feel quite so stupid with me as with
another woman. My young man at Bath wants to marry me for the same
reason. He thinks it would be so pleasant to have me always at hand to
chatter nonsense. That is why you like me, too. You have been pitched
into a strange world. You are not really in touch with it. You like to
be with some one who will talk nonsense and take you a little way out of
it. I am just a little fool, you see, a harmless little creature in cap
and bells whom every one amuses himself with."

John stared at her for a moment, only half understanding.

"Why, little girl," he exclaimed, "I believe you're in earnest!"

"I am in deadly earnest," she assured him, her voice breaking a little.
"Don't take any notice of me. I have had a wretched week, and it's a
rotten world, anyway."

There was a knock at the door, and the waiter entered with the
cocktails.

"Come," John said, as he took one from the tray, "I will tell you some
news that will give you something to think about. I hope that you will
be glad--I feel sure that you will. I want you to be the first to drink
our healths--Louise's and mine!"

The glass slipped through her fingers and fell upon the carpet. She
never uttered even an exclamation. John was upon his knees, picking up
the broken glass.

"My fault," he insisted. "I am so sorry, Sophy. I am afraid some of the
stuff has gone on your frock. Looks as if you'll have to