Fortunately, Rose never saw anything of him, and he was nothing to her now. Her mother was a little prying and inquisitive, but Rose, gentle and tender-hearted, had a way of keeping her mouth shut—somewhat rare in her sex—and when she had made up her mind to be silent, no power on earth could make her talk. The old lady got about her in time some of her old friends, with the male part of whom the daughter was as popular as ever, in spite of her mysterious exit from Sloville. All the young shopmen in the neighbourhood were ready to fall in love with her, but Rose gave them no encouragement, much to the grief of her mother, who was really anxious to see her daughter settled in life. Rose said she was quite comfortable as she was, and her mother had to give way. It was soon clearly understood that Rose was not in the matrimonial market at all, and admiring swains said no more. Rose, as we have seen, was of gentle birth, and that will assert itself in the blood. Successful tradesmen have little time to study the graces of life, and Rose liked refinement; it had come to her hereditarily, as we all know it does. It was not her fault that she turned up her nose at vulgar commonplace admirers, however well off they might be as regards this world’s goods. It is needless to say that Rose, with her bright face, made many friends. A leading theatrical, in search of attractions for his theatre, got hold of her, and found how full she was of dramatic power. Rose had always been fond of the stage, even as it appeared in such a humble form as that in which it was revealed to her at Sloville, and the finished acting of the London theatre gave her immense satisfaction. At first the pay was small, and her work was hard; excellence on the stage, as excellence everywhere, is not to be won without steady work, but she was an apt learner, and made rapid progress. One day she had, as all of us have at some time or other, a chance. One of the principal actresses was taken ill, and Rose had suddenly to perform her part. Her success was as complete as it was gratifying and unexpected. As a critic, Wentworth had to record her triumph, and it not a little astonished him to find in the Miss Howard, the new star of the theatre, an old acquaintance. The meeting was mutually gratifying. If in her distress and poverty she needed his protection, much more did she need it in the hour of her triumph. If he admired her as a rustic beauty, much more did he admire her as she shone radiant on the stage.