that new part. It seems to me insufferably stupid. It is very hard that
you should be expected to make a character look natural when the words
you have to speak are such as no human being would use in any
circumstance whatever."

Oddly enough, he never heard her make even the slightest reference to
her profession without experiencing a sharp twinge of annoyance. He did
not stay to ask himself why this should be so. Ordinarily he simply made
haste to change the subject.

"Then why should you take the part at all?" said he, bluntly.

"Once you have given yourself up to a particular calling--you must
accept its little annoyances," she said, frankly. "I cannot have
everything my own way. I have been very fortunate in other respects. I
never had to go through the drudgery of the provinces, though they say
that is the best school possible for an actress. And I am sure the money
and the care papa has spent on my training--you see, he had no son to
send to college. I think he is far more anxious about my succeeding than
I am myself."

"But you have succeeded," said Macleod. It was, indeed, the least he
could say, with all his dislike of the subject.

"Oh, I do not call that success," said she, simply. "That is merely
pleasing people by showing them little scenes from their own
drawing-rooms transferred to the stage. They like it because it is
pretty and familiar. And people pretend to be very cynical at
present--they like things with 'no nonsense about them;' and I suppose
this son of comedy is the natural reaction from the rant of the