Dorothy, in answer to Sybil's look, was trying to find some excuse for leaving the two together, and had just expressed a desire to cross the lawn to look at a very fine hawthorn when they saw a young woman coming up the steps and heard a ring of the doorbell. Claire Morrell's eyes happened to be upon Sybil's at the moment, and the look of despair that settled whitely down upon her face made her think, with a quickening pulse, "That's just the expression of face many a woman must have seen reflected from the clear water a moment before the fatal plunge." And going swiftly forward to greet the new-comer, who was her neighbor, she decided to give Miss Lawton a chance to speak with her alone if she so desired. Therefore, directly introductions had been made, she asked Miss Helen Gray if she would not show Miss Dorothy about a bit, and, laughingly joining their hands, she shoo'd them before her, crying: "Go forth, lovers of flowers, and seek diligently for the oriole that hideth the nest in mine orchard! A prize awaits the fair, the chaste, the inexpressive she who first locates that nest!" And as they went willingly forth Miss Morrell returned to the parlor, pushing to the door nearest the stairs, and remarked, casually: "We've got the whole floor to ourselves, now, so we may expand!" Then, with a jerk and apropos of nothing, Sybil asked: "Miss Morrell, is it very difficult to get upon the stage?" A flash came from the blue eyes of the actress, and her lip curled contemptuously as she answered: "Oh, no! If a woman has been party to a particularly offensive scandal, or to a shooting, or has come straight from the divorce court, then she turns quite naturally to the stage-door, which seems to open readily to her touch--such is the baneful power of notoriety. But your respectable, clean-minded girl, who wishes to enter a theatre of high standing, will find it easier to break through the wall, removing brick by brick, than to open unaided the door closed against her." "Oh, don't!" cried Sybil, in a pained voice, "don't jest! I am in earnest! I--I--I want to go on the stage, Miss Morrell. Can you, will you, help me?" "Certainly not!" came the swift answer. "Help to the stage a young girl who has a father and a mother and a good home? Be grateful for them, and----" But her words were crossed by a shrill laugh and the bitter cry: "'A good home!' Dear God, hear her! 'A good home!'" And Sybil clasped her throat with both hands to choke back the strangling sobs that were following that laugh. Claire Morrell rose, and, swiftly crossing to her guest, remarked: "You are not well." Then, quite ignoring the gasped: "Oh, yes, I am! I am well enough," she drew out the long pins securing it, lifted the heavy hat from Sybil's head, and, running her long fingers through the dark waves, said, gently: "What is it, child?"