The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 19, 1903, Page 2

from girls who thought it must be “sim- Ply too lovely be on the stage.” Presently all were finished and tossed aside, and Winifred gave herself into the ha of meson, who had the neat lit- tle tailor-m frock off and the Japanese dressing gown on 2 twinkling. The ty blue enamel watch was pinned on window curtain where Winifred could at it she eat at the table to then down came the great w-brown hair, which \ge for the part her style of 1830. e beautif in qui ar wdered and delicate ¥ pointed into a red Cu- P long dark s and the pe rows a ated of her off by a q P nd green br she f ppearance of the evening was r more bewit ng now e gla with her love- ling round her really w. and she won- for her fa d act summoned her to Lon- from the provincial »mpany in which ce, or she that use T could act ty ers into the cold ne can be pre t woul not her be- y a sharp tap CHAPT R IIL THE CHAMPION Jameson answered ¥nock at once and W “the gov- comp nifred heard the volce of e seems d up wouldn't room fitted up for the a great which would gentle- nage screet Wa » pass on the in- stood patient on as his spoke r. Ass Macalire you for an en- Tl ex- toid Macaire's that ights na this duty a hi erha Have you that she will But Wallis the unders message of it aand he had ca up any mu; or the pre: 4 to the portiere which g-room from the ante- t was a cne, artificial r b ever he himself even by a & y few peopie knew the caus his lameness, he had a peculiar hobbling walk whic dded to the pro- t f his appearance L i nk I'll stroll out In fromt first act’s off,” he remarked. “Se er Ta-tal!™ 1 50 he was off. He had stopped just he ok event the young nian doorkeeper’s room frum vernor” before the curtain iready the orchestra was Anderson’s first s 1 worked up to” a few moments - beginning of .he act Anderson had many things to wony sbout that night, but despite the crowd- iug anxieties thought a great deal about F.E.Z., and wondered, not o much what sort of man she had sent him, es what t man would have to tell ebtout her. He generally spent his *“‘wait” Guring the first act either in the green- room or the boudoir, but this evening he 6i¢ not delay a moment in getting back from the handsome, dark face over the shapely, vigorous body in the queer clothes. “Then you are an American? I didn’t—pardon me!—recognjze the accent. From what part of the States do you come? 1 happen to know them a little.” The young man droppad his eyes. “I have lived in many parts of America,” he to his dressing-room. He had left word tnat Mr. Hope Newcome should be there at precisely ten minutes to 8, and as it was now almost on the hour the young man was already in the anteroom. ob- served somewhat suspiciously by Waws, when the actor-manager arrived. For the fraction of a second the two men looked at each other without speak- sald. ing. “An extraordinarily handsome fei- “And you came to England because— low, but where on earth did he spring but no, of course you did not come here frem with that get-up?’ Anderson was merely with an eye to such an engage- saying to himself. ment as this?” “He's as handsome as she sald,” the jj;pe Newcome looked straight int the ycunger man was thinking. actor's inquiring eyes with rather a Then the manager smiled agreeably and gtrange and baflling expression. *I came held out his hand, for he wished to be 1, find something,” he replied. And per- conciliatory ir. Newcome,” he sald papg Anderson was mistaken in fancying in his deep. rich voice, “you have been tpat the words really meant more than sent to me by the most beautiful Woman tpey seemed to mean. in the world. Tell me of her.” 4 et G ik Shie is no longer in this world,” an I'miextremely SOCE¥.C W 2 “but when you come to'think of it, you will see for vourself that it's imposzible for me to give you an engagement as the wrestler, much as I should like to please swered the other, a shadow passing over his_fece “Dead “Desad only fc 01 s G K degbean .r(:‘lf:.,(rnq?:y:.,,“,g:‘,,. to me2 You for the sake of the cne Who is gone. “Bhe advised me before she aied to try You are a tall man, but you are' nit so ax 1T ever went to Hngiang, tall as I by an inch or two, and bealdes 1 oo ae e ansiand. a4 fits the difference in our years, I am of T T stouter build than you. Orando would e_why, she gave me my €t little sympathy from the audience out first engagement. 1 -was onlf 17 years old. -Of 8 match with a wipstiey smalier than 7 : i ;i ¥ 17 years old. ), eif. | must remember the interests v 1 recall he: DUS ac seems . oy glorlous face it seems ") "Niav: and it would never do; don't “She told me. It is thirty years ago.” 1 $65-that v o George Anderson's dreamy eyes dark- _ “‘Perhaps,” admitted Hope Newcome. I ened, as they did when they were an- bad not thought of thac point of view. noved. He did not like being reminded At a'l events, thank you for seeing me. I'm afraid I've taken up a good deal of ir time.” Lord Arthur, boy, outside the ha of his age, especially when he was fl ing in romantic visions. “You have not told me what sk u?" he said in a changed tone he was a dear friend of my father, a wrough him, of mine.” land and the English stage have been the poorer without her, for—as you remind me—a good many years. 1 hope she spent them happily?” Only in some ways, I am afraid. ple—ase’ skouted the t-open door of the was teroom Lord Arthur” .was the name of character played by Mr. Anderson: this call told him that in five minutes test he must be at his entrance to take up his cue. “Not at all too much time,’ the d She he politeis 5 Ze 2 4?*_ ‘THEN INnE BLACK HORSE WTTIZ A SLIM BODY ITHROWN ACROSS HIS BACFK SPRANG- INTO SIGEHT" was very poor, and—she died almost in. answered his guest. *But I'm called. I want. Still, ehe was loved. Tlat is some- there something else I could do for you? thing—to be loved.” His eyes added: “If you are hard up, I “It could not have been otherwise with Might be equal to a few pounds”; and ewcome read othing el the eyes and flushed. thank you.” he said, has- y. *Good night.” “If you'll leave your audress with me something might turn up,” the actor went on, not forgetful of Lionel Macaire's her. There were many here who would have been only too glad to help her had they known. But her disappearance was a mystery which was never cleared up. 1 was hoping you might throw some light upon it.” il I know nothing of that.” sald the IDstructions. But he had spoken too late younger man, turning away his face, so Already the young man sent him by “F. that George Anderson could see the E. Z.” was gone strong, aquiline profile. “She sent a mes- sage to you, though, in case I should ever meet you. It was her ‘kindest remem- brance,’ and she thought of the past with great pleasure. She hoped you, too, some- times recalled it.” *“No one could ever forget her who had seen her even once!” exclaimed the actor with genuine emotion. *‘She—er—thought 1 might be of use to you, as her friend?” “She knew 1 should need friends,” the other amended. “And, as a matter of fact, Mr. Anderson, I have come to-night to ask if you will give me an engagement when you put on ‘As You Like It as I hear you intend to do very soon.” 'm exceedingly sorry. but my cast is all made up,” the manager replied. “I read in the paper yesterday that the ou were to have had for the wrest- i disappointed you t's true—though it was in the pa- have the real thing, you * CHAPTER 1V. SOMETHING DAZZLING. Winifred was rather ‘awe-struck by the managerial command to proceed to the boudoir. She had been In Mr. Anderson’s compuny since March, when they had put on the new play, the run of which would soon be over; and it was now close upon October. She knew that she was popular in the company (although she had made a phenomenal hit in the part for which she had been speclally engaged), and she thought that Mr. Anderson liked her per- sonally, but she had never so much as been inside the boudoir. She had passed by and glanced in; but the boudoir was usually sacred to the entertainment of royalties or other Important personages who *‘came behind” during a performance to see Mr. Anderson. Winifred was afraid that she must inadvertently have done something wrong, and that she was to “I think T may call myself the real be scolded by the “governo: who could thing. 1 was champion ¢f the amatcurs say very nasty thinzs when he chose (so in Americ she had heard), despite hig - delightful “Indeed!” Anderson’s eyes traveled voice and dreamy eyes, She wore the same dress in the second act as in the- first, therefore when the curtain had gone down she had nothing to do until hermext entrance, which fact no doubt Mr. Anderson had remembered in sending for her at that time. Her heart was beating fast as she knocked at the door of the boudoir. 2 Instaptly It was opened by Mr. Lionel Macaire and, though Winifred glanced quickly about the rose, white and gold interior, she did not see any one else. “How are you this evening, Miss Gray?” said the millionaire. “I've just this minute come round from the front. I sat in the royal box watching your b'g scene. It never went better—which is saying a great deal. Why do you stand outside the door? Aren’t you coming in?"’ “Mr. Auterson sent for m explained Winifred, still lingering on the threshold. “I thought he would be here—but perhaps he's been detained, or has forgotten.” “*He hasn't forgotten, I know, for I heard him mention the appointment,” an- swered Macaire.” “But the fact is, he asked me to speak to you. I hope you don't mind?” “Oh, no; of course not.” said the girl in a puzzled way She walked slow'y into the pretty room, her quaint brocade rustling. She knew that Mr. Macaire had bzen coming to the theuater a good deal lately, and for the last few weeks had often stood chatting with her outside an entrance where she was obliged to walt for nearly ten min- utes in the third act—a privilege which the stage manager would not have grant- ed to any one save an intimate f;.:nd of Mr. Anderson. ‘“‘He has seen some fault in my acting,” she sa.d to herself, “and fi‘f been speaking to Mr. Anderson about “You've plenty of time for a little talk now, haven't you?' asked the millionaire, bringing forward the most imporiant looking chair for the girl. “I've five-and-twenty minutes before my next entrance, in the second act,” she replied before she stopped to think, and then was sorry that she had spoken. Mr. Macaire might fancy that she wanted to spend the whole five-and- twenty minutes in talking to him, which she did rot at all. She had noticed that the Jeading lady and two or three others rather toadied to the rich, hideous man, but that made her all the more anxious not to do so. Thére was no real reason for disllking him, as he had invariably almost gone out of his way to be nice to her, since she had first met him at the theater; yet his reputation was against him, and he was so ugly that she could not bear to look at him, and'was uneasy in his presence. She was even a little afl:ald of him, though she did not know why. As she replled to him Macaire touched the bell and spoke for a moment to the person who answered. ““You seem to think five-and-twenty minutes a long time,”” he went on, turn- ing again to her. “But it won't be half long enough for me—I have so0 many things to say to you. Have you heard any gossip, Miss Gray. about my connec- tion with this theater?” “No,” returned Winifred, showing her surprise. “I didn’t know you were con- rected with it. T thought you were just -a friend of Mr. Anderson's.” “You thought I came here three or four times a week merely for the pleasure of seeing him ‘Winifred smiled—and when she smlied, showing a deep dimple in elther cheek, she was divinely sweet. “I hadn't thought much about it,” she sald. “It wasn't my business, you know."” “You mean you didn’t know it was your business. But—"" Scme one knocked at the door and Ma- caire, who had continued to stand near by, opened it. A man appeared carrying a silver tray with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. There was also a tiny silver and porcelain chocolate pot and a bittle Sevres cup. The tray, at the gesture of Macalre, was placed on a small table, and, as soon as the door had softly closed after the servant, the millionaire sat down on a scfa close to which he had placed the chair now tenanted by Winifred. “Some new arrangements are under ne- gotiaticn for this theater,” he =ald, “and ttey iutimately concern you. But don't leok so startled. It is nothing to be frightened about—on the contrary, In- deed, I sent for some champagne in the hope you'd join me in drinking to their suCCess. “I seldom drink champagne, thank " sald Winifred, with a slight stiff- ness of manner. She liked the man less than ever to-night, and wished that if he had any criticlsm to make he would make it and have done with it. Anyway, she would certalnly not drink champagne with him, alone here in the boudoir. “Won't you make an exception ¥ this cnce and please me? Mr. Anderson al- ways offers his frlends something when they visit him in this room,” pleaded the milljoraire. “But I'm here on business.” And Win- itred’s smile salved the abruptness of her speech. “This chocolate, then. 1 asked for it in case you didn't like champagne. It's cold this evening. I shall think it unfriendly of you if you won't; and it would be a grief to me if you were unfriendly. I know what a Caliban I am, Miss Gray; and I'm very sensitive where women I admire are concerned.” He poured out the chocolate, and, be- cause she was sorry for the hideous man although he had millions, Winifred took the little cup from him. Ss she did so his fingers touched hers. Something made her look up at the same instant. She met his eyes, and shivered faintly. For a moment he did not speak. Then he went on quietly: “I am golng 'to talk to you in confidence. I know, and Mr. Anderson knows, that you are to be trust- ed. Mr. Anderson has had some bad luck.” *Oh!" exclaimed Winifred, “I'm sorry! 1 thought this plece had done so well,” “So it has, or it wouldn't have run all through the hot summer, with only the short holiday you all had in August. The bad luck was before the present play, and the receipts from it have only been enough to pay the old.debts. A dead secret s that the man who has acted as business manager for the last year was put in by Mr. Anderson’s credifors to look after their interests. A superior ‘man in pos- session,” so to speak. Of course, a very THE SUN Y CALL ey Anderson, with whom in a whisper by she was playing the scene. . 3 It it had been with any one else sha thought desperately that she might have done better; but it was sickening (o‘ eel that he must have known, or at least shrewdly guessed, what sort of things the millfonaire meant to say and that now, every moment, he was watching her to seize anxiously upon the secrets of her mind. Perhaps the matter was not really of as great importance to him as Mr. Ma- caire had said that It was; but certainly there was some understanding between the two men in which she was concerned \Winifred hardly knew how uhal ;i-( th¥ough the rest of her part that night She was conscious during the last act that Macalire was sitting in the Ro: :, box again, his eyes fixed upon her. The giddiness came over her once more, an it was only by a severe effort that she continued the !cen:. Tt o od deal of fun general t beAhl:g the scenes at the Duke of Clar- ence's, for the members of the company were almost all ladies and gentlemen, an they knew each other very well. Between acts and between scenes much talk and laughing and some flirting was order of the day in th to-night Winifred Gray was closely to her :rlti wondyerad what haa bhappened make her so silent. «“After all, I don’t quite ses what he can do,” & ssured herself over and over agaln. He can’t expect Mr. An- derson to discharge me just becaus Ire fused to accept insults from him. Still, she was vaguely afrald and de- pressed. Something indefinite, yeot ter- rible, seemed to be hanging over her—eo indefinite that she did not Xnow in what form to look for it, or In what direction to attempt escape. The play came to an end at eleven, and every night, at & quarter-past the hour. & four-wheeled cab, engaged by the month, called for Miss Gray at the stage door. She was generally ready by that time, but once in & while the driver had to wait. This evening, as usual, & little arowd n to gather near the stage entrance after the curtain went down— a crowd of boys ana young men 'h.e thought lingering no waste of time t they could ses the actresses come out; for there were several at the Duke of Clar- ence’s who were “the fashion™ by re son of their good looks or some other at- traction. Most of the men were of the In- vertebrate type known as “Johnnies,” and therefore a tall roughly dressed young fellow with a wide-brimmed, soft felt hat was conspicuous among them. He was ashamed of himseif for being thers: neverthele: he had not resisted the temptation to try and ses Winifred Gray once again. When he left Mr. Anderson, Newcome had walked out of the theater with a nod and a “thank you!" to Hansey at the stage door. For some time he had wan- dered aimlessly through the streets, with a great loneliness, among the crowds who cared nothing him; then, suddenly. he had turned and gone back to the Duke of arence’s. At the pit entrance he he: embarrassing position for Mr, Anderson, who has got precious little for himself out of his present success.” “I'm so sorry,” said Winifred again, wondering very much why she—a com- paratively insignificant member of the company—should be told these things, un- less Mr. Macaire had for some queer rea- son been deputed to suggest that every- body should take half salaries. “It is in your power to help Mr. An- derson place things on a far better foot- ing,” went on the millionaire. “I'd be glad to do anything, the girl. “Would you drew rearer; closely into shrank back. “Mrs. Peter Carlton and Mr. Anderson have not been getting on very well to- gether of late,” he annoudced. “I don’t care for her acting, and she's getting too passee to be much of a ‘draw.’ I have told my friend Anderson that, it he had a dirferent leading lady, I would act as his backer. He might call on me for any: thing he liked, up to half a million. Nat- urally,” continued Macaire, *“Anderson Is much taken with the idea. It would be a new lease of life for him. He could do things very differently in the theater. His productions would be on a finer scale: the salaries pald would be better. I asked his permission to speak to you on the subject.” “To me? Winifred hardly dared to think that she understood. The blood surged to her forehead; but her make-up hid the sudden change of color, and she was thankful that it did. “You would be my choice as leading lady; and Mr. Anderson agrees with me in thinking that it is good.” His face was very close to her shoulder, as he bent forward from his sofa, and Winifred sprang up. *Oh, Mr. Macalr she exclalmed, “I can't think that you mean it.” “I never meant anything mors in my life—except once, perhaps.” (His face changed and darkened with some mem- ory, which seemed to p ross his light eyes like a storm cloud.) 'o—on second thoughts, not more even then. You have begun to rehearse Celia, in ‘As You Like It," I belleve, Miss Gray. How would you like to play Rosalind instead? You would be an ideal Rosalind to my thinking.” The girl's brain was in a whirl. She had been Rosalind in the country touring company from which Mr. Anderson had transplanted her. To play the part here— in London—would be tou glorious to be true. She was very young—only just 20; and for a moment she could hardly breathe, confronted with such a magnif- cent thought. Then, behind that thought, a dark Shadow seemed to stea: and hover. really The hideous face tbe marred eyes looked hers. Involuntarily she the he greenroom, but missing. She dressing-room, and her to b five minut CHAPTER V. . A FOUR-WHEELED CAB. “Mrs. Carlton surely won't leave Mr. Anderson so soon—so suddenly?’ Wini- fred said. “She Is leaving at once. You may take it from me, Miss Gray.” answered Ma- caire. “that the place of leading lady will be vacant for you to fill.” C The girl felt curiously giddy. “And— pald half a crown (an extravagance and if—I should have to refuse?” she fal- his circumstances), luckily finding a seat tered late as it was, and seelag the play “I'm afrald, In that case, there'd be through to the end. trouble—for every one. Mr. Anderson's in a peculiar position. He bas been careless. He must have money at once. Some ene- mies of his have been at work. Cartain firms have refused to trust him. The new When it was all sver he could hardly have told what it was all about; but one thing he was sure of, Miss Gray was the prettiest and the sweetest girl he had ever seen in his life. He would have liked to production is imperiled. If T should not do some great service for her, not to win see my ¢ to backing him Mr. Anderson her notice, but bec of the warmth would be at his wits' end there would be in his heart only to feel “But—you have promised him, haven’'t that b ad « ymething abo r you —perhaps the expression of her e r “Only conditionally.” the way t alr waved back “You mean—but no, you can't mean from her foreh ed him of a wo- that—"" man 7 supreme in “I do mean that, and nothing else. With beauty; a dead woman whose words had you for his leading lady, matters are to sent him tramping. almost pe ss and go smoothly with my friend, George An- through hardships, B eds of derson miles on the way to England w >f ¥ Lionel Maoaire had not A girl and a man n when Win- ifred rose. He had sat still, watching her. in front of him talkin T But now he got up. with his pecullar and Hope Newcome listened with inte limp, ke the sideways galt of a crab, est. If they had spoken evil of her he would certalnly have inflicted summary the man, but they had only good things to say. The girl told th man what a surprising “hit” Miss Gra had made last spring. and how she had and stood in front of the girl. She was obliged to look him in the face, unless she turned abruptly from him, and in her confusion she stammered out the frst ds that came to her mind punishment upon s been “‘made” after he first night at the t's the strangest thing I ever heard! ocr mo cqnremcc's by the extravagant Why should you do all that for me? You il T COFeIN L Po . rltie ert sca know me. We are not friends. hog enly been in Lendon a few mor W2 JOU SR M. AnSevant wig---— but already her photographs were in “But I wish that we should be friends. Don't you really understand? Winnie, don’t you see that I'm in love with you? As he spoke he caught her hands, but greater demand than those of any other actress (Hope resolved at once to get one), while there was a new style of shoe and a new rose named after her. she snatched them away, panting, her =~ Newcome went out with the crowd eyes dilated. Tt made her sick to hear when it was all over, but almost invelun- him call her “Winnje.” She was that to tarfly he turned toward the stage en- no one save her mother and brothe; ou must be making fun of me!” she cried. *“You are alm old, and you are very rich—horribly rich—while I'm only a young girl, and nobody at all. I—I thought him, and looked at each other with raised, you were married. Anyway, you can't questioning eyebrows. Perhaps they really want to marry me. I—" would have laughed; but Hope Newcome My darling child, I can give you any- was not exactly the sort of man one thing on earth,” pleaded the millionaaire laughed at unk one were six feet In “But I can’'t marry you. You can have a h ht and broad proportion. Still, he theater of your own, if you llke, when was ashamed of himself for forming one ‘re tired of being leading lady here—" of such a group, and was half inclined to trance for one more look at his divinit whom perhaps he should never have & chance to see again. The “Johnnies” stared supercillously at “Stop!” cut in Winifred in a low, %o away without walting for a glimpse changed voice. “I do understand you of Miss Gray, when a smart brougham now—at last. I—was very stupid at first. drove up, and close behind it a four- Mr. Macaire, we needn't talk about this Wheeled cab. hat's Mrs. Peter Carlton's turnout,” one youth said to another, nodding at the brougham: and at the same moment a big r* man, who appeared to be without compan- fons, stepped to the curbstone and spoke in a low voice to the driver of the cab. “That's our Winn'e's echarfot. Comes for her every h Not quite so grand as the other. eh?" remarked the youth. e her time,” sald his friend: and they both laughed. Hope Newcome clenched his hands, and any more. I've quite decided.” “You're going to let me lay the world at your feet?” “I'm going to do nothing of the kin the girl broke out irritably, almost child- ishly, for she was keeping back hysterical tears. “Oh, it doesn't seem a bit real. but it's horrid, perfectly horrid, that such a thing should happen to me. I must go now—and please. Mr. Macaire. never speak to me again—about anything.” He caught her dress and held it tightly. “You shan't go!" he efaculated. “As yos Dreatbed hard. He would have ifked sald, T am old—and I'm the ugliest man !OtHINE better than to teach the pair a o arth Chnow that. But T con Divs lesson in discretion. but he realfzed that You things that queens might wish for (m [0 Miss Gray’s sake he had better let g e gt ieh f0T I" them alone. He looked with great inter- men. I've made love to many women, ¢St a4 the plain vehicle which had ths honor of taking Winifred Gray home, and but I've loved only one woman in my lifs 4 he wondered what the well-dressed man before I saw you. You've got hair and eyes like hers. That's why I thought of OP the pavement was saying In such a you at first. Now I love you for your- 10W. earnest tone to the cabman. He self. T love you with all the love I gave could mot hear the words, but, as he lis- her. and as much again besides. I will t¢ened. he caught the driver's answer have you.” “That's all right, sir, but I couldn’t do it “No, you won't, Mr. Macaire” The It's as much as my place would be girl trembled between anger and tears. WOrth.” “Let my dress go. You will tear it to Newcome's ears seemed suddenly to be pieces.” sharpened. “But look here,” the other “T will do more. T'll tear you to pleces Uurged, “there’s no reason—" Again his if you try to resist me,” sald Macaire. ~I Voice dropped so low that the rest was lost. For three or four minutes the conversa.- tion went on, Newcome the only one in the crowd who continued to give It atten- tion, for meanwhile Mrs. Peter Carlton and her maid had come out from the stage door, the actress in a magnificent evening wrap over a ball gown. She was have done that with every one who went against me all my life. I never falled.” —I'm not afraid of you!" (She was bheginning to be horribly afraid of him. But she would have died at this moment rather than let him see that.) “It is cow- ardly of you to threaten me.” “[ don’t threaten. I warn. You are am- bitious. 1 can more than satisfy your evidently “going on” somewhere. Then highest ambitions on the stage—and in appecared two or three pretty girls, whose soclety, too, if you have them. If you small parts and salaries to match did not mean to be foolish, my little Winifred, you will never get on—you will never get on.” “Some ways of getting on cost too much,” said Winifred. “and this is one of them. If you don’t let me go, I shall ery out for help. You don’t think I'd dare to prevent their being beautifully dressed But Newcome did not even see them. The man who had been talking to the cab Griver had now climbed up on the seat beside him, where, having turned up the collar of his light overcoat and pulled his round black hat somewhat down over —but I will-I will! Oh, I loathe you—you his eyes, he sat silently with hi are horrible!” folded. ; o “Go, then!” He released his hold upon At any moment now Miss Gray was her dress so suddenly that, straining to be free, she staggered forward, only sav- ing herself from falling by catching at the handle of the door. “Go, then; but I tell you this, you'll come back to me—on your knees.' “Never!" *“We shall see!” Blindly she was fumbling with the door- knob. He caught away her hand and held the door open for her to pass out, bow- ing and smiling a hateful smile. “You loathe me. I am horrible. I shall not forget that. But—we shall see.” . . . . Winifred was only just in time to take up her cue. Her head was throbbing, her heart beating so fast that she could not think. She forgot the lines that were so familiar to her and twice (In stage par- lance) *‘dried up,” having to be prompted !Ik?l)’ to come out. The blood was beat- ing in Hope Newcome's temples. He had only landed in Liverpool a week ago from the ship in which he had been a steerage passenger. From Liverpool he had walkea much of the way to London, to economize the little money he had left. In that part of America whence he came, men did not take very long to make up their minds or to act after they were made up, and Newcome had not spent time enough In a slower country to change his ways. For a moment he hesitated, because he hated making himself more conspicuous t¥an he was already, and prudence wish- pered that he might be stumbiing into a mare's nest. But it was only for a mo- ment. Then he took one stride across the pavement and addressed the driver of Miss Gray's cab.