seat beside her. "Really?" he said, with evident satisfaction. "Why, I imagined you were rather averse to it."
"Oh, no; I was only ignorant. It seems to me a great art. I should love to go up there and portray some character just as I feel it, and know that my interpretation was appreciated by an audience like this. Oh, it must be splendid!"
Haughtly watched her admiringly. "It is only a momentary fancy," he said; "you see the beautiful outside, the enjoyable harvest of much labor. There are years of drudgery back of each little part in these scenes that appear to run along so smoothly and easily.."
"Of course," Helen responded. "Everyone who succeeds has that back of him—even a pianist."
"Yes, that's true; but the stage needs physical and mental labor combined; it necessitates absolute self-command and entire attention."
"But there is more to work for," returned Helen. "The life is so full of interest and—possibilities, I should think."
He regarded her hesitatingly. "Would you be willing to go through the drudgery to become a star?" he asked.
Helen looked surprised. "What do you think?—that I am very lazy and unambitious?"
"Oh, no, only—you don't look like the style of girl who would aspire to this sort of thing."
"I have always so misunderstood the stage. It is far more interesting than I ever imagined. I think it would be a splendid way to—lose oneself."
Haughtly laughed. "To lose oneself?" he repeated. "Surely you have no ambition to do that."
Helen looked away; her beautiful profile, the slight drooping of her mouth, expressed a secret sadness. He wondered what it meant, what grief could have come to darken her life so soon.
"You might make a great success on the stage," he said after a moment; "you have everything to your advantage."
"I have a friend who used to tell me that so often," returned Helen, smiling as she remembered Miss Elison's arguments, "but I never considered it a possibility."
"If you ever should consider it, I wish you would come to me," said Haughtly gently, "I think I might be able to help you."
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Perfectly; I am more than serious; I am interested."
His eyes expressed more than interest, and Helen avoided them. They were fine eyes of a rich, golden brown; they had appealed to her the moment she first met them fixed upon her in genuine interest at Mrs. Manning's house. She had never known a man with the same charm of intellect, the same sincere gravity, and it soothed her to feel
