ng a little extra work out of his youthful
leading lady. He informed her that she must be down at the stables
every morning at eight o'clock to inspect the horses and see them fed
and watered. As a matter of fact the inspection should have been one
of his own duties, but the girl was not likely to cavil at any little
additional work that had not been exactly specified in her contract.
Besides, if she did, he could soon make it uncomfortable for her.
Arithelli made no objection. Though she hated getting up early she
would never have grudged a sacrifice of comfort made on behalf of any
animal. When all the business was completed, Emile took her to the
Cafe Colomb for lunch.

Before they left he knew the details of her history.

The big house in Ireland, with its stud of horses and unlimited
hospitality, and the rapidly vanishing fortune. Her mother, a Viennese
by birth, a cosmopolitan by travel and education, a fine horsewoman,
and extravagance incarnate. Her father, good-natured, careless, manly,
as sportsmanlike and unbusinesslike as most Irishmen. When his horses
died he bought more, keeping always open house for a colony of men as
shiftless and as easy-going as himself.

As the children grew up the money became less and less. They were sent
to Convent schools in France and Belgium, then to cheap schools in
England.

At length the final crash came, and the big, picturesque, rambling
house in Galway was sold, and they came to London with an infinitesimal
income partly derived from the grudging charity of relatives.

Arithelli cleaned the doorsteps and the kitchen stove, blackleaded the
grates and prepared the meals, which more often than not consisted only
of potatoes and tea.

Their mother, who hated all domestic work, and could never be induced
to see that their loss of money was due to her own extravagance,
retired to bed, where she spent her days in reading Plato in the
original, and writing charming French lyrics.

When Arithelli ran away she had gone straight to an old friend of her
mother's, the widow of an ambassador in Paris. She had made up her
mind to earn her own living. She would carve out for herself a career.
Having decided that riding was her most saleable accomplishment, she
had gone round to the riding school where the managers of the
Hippodromes of Vienna, Buda-Pesth and Barcelona waited to select
_equestriennes_.

Luck, youthful confidence, and her tragic, unyouthful beauty, had a