"Don't cry any more. It will make you ill. Nothing very bad has happened, has it?" Belinda was still prosaically cheerful. "Oh, it was horrid," wailed the youthful tragédienne with more spontaneous feeling than she had ever put into Ophelia's ravings or Juliet's anguish. "They wouldn't take me in at boarding-houses, and when I did find a place it was so smelly, and they had corned beef for dinner, and I loathe corned beef, and the people were so queer, and the sheets weren't clean, and the bed had lumps; and I thought when Mr. Frohman saw me and heard me give the sleep-walking scene he'd be glad to educate me for the stage like they do in books, but he wouldn't even see me. Hardly anybody would see me, and when one manager did he told me I hadn't any talent, and that I wasn't even fit for an Amazon unless I could learn to dance, and that I'd better do charwork, and he said such dreadful things about the stage and the work; and then I went back to the boarding-house, and it smelled worse than ever, and one of the men spoke to me in the hall, and--Oh, dear. Oh, d-e-a-r!" She ran out of breath for anything save wailing, and Belinda patted her on the back encouragingly without speaking. "And then I felt so sick, and I was afraid to stay alone all night, and I just left my bag and slipped out--and I really do feel dreadfully sick, Miss Carewe. I guess it's a judgment. It'd be a good thing if I'd die. I'm not any good and I can't be a star, and papa and the boys'll never forgive me." "Nonsense," laughed Belinda. "It wasn't nice of you, but fathers are not so unforgiving as all that, and if you'll just give up raving about the stage----" "I never want to hear of acting again." "Well, I don't think your father will be very angry if he hears that." "But suppose I die?" Belinda lighted the gas. In the light the girl's cheeks showed scarlet, and when the Youngest Teacher felt Adelina's hands and face she found them burning with fever. "Small danger of your dying within fifty years, child, but you are tired and nervous. I'll have the doctor come in and see you." She put the returned wanderer to bed and telephoned for the doctor, but while she waited for him there was a ring at the bell and she heard Mr. Wilson's voice in the hall. He was standing in the doorway, uncertainly twirling his hat in nervous hands, and looking even more harassed than usual, when Belinda went down to him. "I don't suppose----" he began. "She's here," interrupted Belinda. The father's face flushed swiftly. "And she's all right, only I'm afraid she's going to be ill from the excitement. She's very much ashamed and very much disillusioned, Mr. Wilson. I think she's had her lesson, and I don't think I'd scold much if----" There was an odd moisture on the glasses which Mr. Wilson removed from his nose and wiped with scrupulous care; and he cleared his voice several times before he spoke.