"Miss Norvell," and Winston straightened up, "possibly I may be employed here for a reason similar to that which has induced you to travel with a troupe of barn-stormers." She shrugged her shoulders, her lips smiling, the seductive dimple showing in her cheeks. "And what was that?" "The ambition of an amateur to attain a foothold upon the professional stage." "Who told you so?" "Mr. Samuel Albrecht was guilty of the suggestion. "It was extremely nice of him to discuss my motives thus freely with a stranger. But he told you only a very small portion of the truth. In my case it was rather the imperative necessity of an amateur to earn her own living--a deliberate choice between the professional stage and starvation." "Without ambition?" She hesitated slightly, yet there was a depth of respect slumbering within those gray eyes gazing so directly into her darker ones, together with a strength she felt. "Without very much at first, I fear," she confessed, as though admitting it rather to herself alone, "yet I acknowledge it has since grown upon me, until I have determined to succeed." His eyes brightened, the admiration in them unconcealed, his lips speaking impulsively. "And what is more, Miss Norvell, you 'll make it." "Do you truly believe so?" She had already forgotten that the man before her was a mere stage hand, and her cheeks burned eagerly to the undoubted sincerity of his utterance. "No one else has ever said that to me--only the audiences have appeared to care and appreciate. Albrecht and all those others have scarcely offered me a word of encouragement." "Albrecht and the others are asses," ejaculated Winston, with sudden indignation. "They imagine they are actors because they prance and bellow on a stage, and they sneer at any one who is not in their class. But I can tell you this, Miss Norvell, the manager considers you a treasure; he said as much to me." She stood before him, the glare of the stage glinting in her hair, her hands clasped, her dark eyes eagerly reading his face as though these unexpected words of appreciation had yielded her renewed courage, like a glass of wine. "Really, is that true? Oh, I am so glad. I thought, perhaps, they were only making fun of me out in front, although I have always tried so hard to do my very best. You have given me a new hope that I may indeed master the art. Was that my cue?" She stepped quickly backward, listening to the voices droning on the stage, but there remained still a moment of liberty, and she glanced uncertainly about at Winston. "Am I to thank you for giving me such immaculate dressing-rooms of late?" she questioned, just a little archly. "I certainly wielded the broom." "It was thoughtful of you," and her clear voice hesitated an instant. "Was--was it you, also, who placed those flowers upon my trunk last evening?" He bowed, feeling slightly embarrassed by the swift returning restraint in her manner.