“Fame, position, the means of getting on.” “Is that what you care for most?” “What if it is?” “It is not; but, if it were, I would get those for you easily enough.” She laughed, but not merrily. “I think you overestimate your powers.” Aubrey’s face looked in that moment as if carved in wood, save for the steady shining of his light eyes. He said, quietly: “Oh, I do, do I? Well, you shall see.” They were both silent for a few moments, and then Annie heard her cue and went on. This conversation took place on a Thursday evening, and during the next two days Annie avoided Aubrey still, and he did not again seek an interview with her, but contented himself with simple greetings, and with watching her quite unobtrusively. She missed his companionship keenly, far too keenly. She did not dare to leave the house all day, fearing as much to meet him as to meet any of the Braithwaites, yet holding her breath when there was a knock at the front door, in the hope that he at least had come to ask after her. But he did not come. On Saturday night, as she was leaving the theater, Aubrey came out, followed by a boy carrying his portmanteau. For the first time for three days, he ran after her. “Good-bye, Miss Langton; I am going to town.” Annie started. “What! You are going away?” “Only till Monday. I am going on business. You will wish me good luck?” “With all my heart!” He wrung her hand and ran on without a word. They could not trust themselves to speak again. The next day Annie left Beckham with the rest of the company. On Monday night they met once more at the theater. Aubrey was looking paler and plainer than usual, and gave as a reason for his altered appearance that he had not been to bed for the last two nights. “May I see you home to-night, Miss Langton?” asked he, as soon as he found a chance of speaking to Annie. “I will not say a word that could offend you. I will not touch upon the--the forbidden topic,” he whispered, earnestly. Annie could not refuse; but it was hard work for her to hide her agitation--and her pleasure--when she once more found him waiting for her that night at the stage-door, and slipped her hand falteringly within his proffered arm. She had no need to be afraid; his manner was as cool and composed as if she had been his grandmother, and piqued her into similar calmness. “I thought you would like to know how I got on in town,” said he at once, in the most matter-of-fact tone. “I went up about a London engagement--at the Regent’s Theater--and I’ve got it!” “I’m so glad,” said Annie, coolly. “Well, that is not all. I’ve got an offer of an engagement there for you too.” “Not really?”