faith and virtue were to meet an appropriate reward. Sir Watkin, cynic as he was, could not but admire. At first he ventured to hesitate, dislike, to damn with faint praise, as in his somewhat superior style he attempted one or two remarks to those around; but the feeling was too strong, and he found himself applauding in spite of his stern resolve to do nothing of the kind. Yes, the girl had become a fine woman and a clever actress. She surely would not cut him if he made his way behind the scenes. In vain, however, he would have tried had not the manager seen him. ‘How d’ye do, Sir Watkin? glad to see you. You have not been much with us of late.’ ‘No,’ replied the Baronet; ‘I’ve been busy elsewhere. You’ve got a good house to-night. A good deal of paper, I suppose?’ ‘Not a bit of it. The public pay.’ ‘I am glad to hear that. How do you account for it?’ ‘Sir Watkin, I am surprised you ask such a question when you see what a star we’ve got.’ ‘Oh, Miss Howard. Not bad. I should like to speak to her.’ ‘By all means; come along.’ And they made their way to the back, cold and draughty, and very disenchanting, as the workmen were shifting the scenes. ‘Take care, Sir Watkin. Mind that trapdoor. Look out, Sir Watkin!’ and suchlike exclamations were uttered by the manager as one danger after another threatened. The scene-shifters, very dirty, were numerous. There a ballet-girl was talking to an admirer, as she was waiting her turn. There another was by herself practising the step which was, in a few minutes, to crown her with well-deserved applause. In the midst of them presently Miss Howard appeared. The manager hastened to introduce his old friend, who, with his hat off, was preparing one of the polite speeches for which men of the world are famous, and by means of which, occasionally, they ensnare a woman. The lady walked on. The manager was shocked. It was now the Baronet’s turn. ‘Permit an old friend to offer Miss Howard his congratulations on her great success this evening.’ The lady thus addressed coldly bowed, but uttered never a word. The situation was embarrassing. Fain would the Baronet have detained the actress. ‘Rose,’ he said passionately, ‘one word!’ But before he could utter another he found himself face to face with Wentworth, who, as usual, had come to see the actress home. ‘You here?’ said he to the Baronet. ‘Yes, and why not?’ said the latter angrily. ‘And you dare speak to that lady?’ ‘Yes, why not? Do you think I am to be balked by a fellow like you?’ ‘Say that again,’ said Wentworth, ‘and I’ll break every bone in your body.’ ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ exclaimed the manager, ‘pray be quiet! Sir Watkin, come along with me.’