And Pomeroy chuckled: “So she got under your skin, with her formula?” For the exalted one had dropped into a chant as the easiest way out. Her voice trailing after every introduction performed by Glidden, she turned like an automaton to meet outstretched hands. “So glad to meet you. So glad to meet you. Let me see, now--what is it you have written? So stupid of me to forget.” “It’s a swell show,” said Florence. We found that still we were accompanied by James Pomeroy. “And to think that I started to go to the theatre instead!” gloated Pomeroy. We hung, enthralled, on the exalted one’s lips, which continued to mouth her formula: “So glad to meet you. What is it you have written? So glad to meet you.” Getting away from her husband and mother-in-law, Eva fled across the room. “I can’t bear another blow! Did you hear her? What does it come to--that I’ve worked, and sold my soul--when that woman asks what I’ve written?” “Why can’t you laugh at it?” asked Florence. However, to even Spencer Mapes’ suave interjections she merely shook a despondent head. “This won’t do,” said the sophist. “You will have to get up your fighting spirit.” She said nothing to this. He pursued his theme. “If you are to beat her out, you must keep yourself in the pink of condition--like a prize fighter, if you’ll pardon the comparison. It’s no half-time job--building up a great reputation.” She said: “True.” Her voice was discouraged. He pushed it. “For the reason that women let other interests get in their way----” His pause was impressive. But his lips remained pursed for another cunning effort. She appeared to be lost in thought. Her eyes were now fixed on him. I looked around for reinforcements; but Florence and Pomeroy had sauntered off. Mapes’ hesitation might have arisen from a noble wish to be fair. Eva’s face was pale; her lips parted as if to speak, but she contented herself with another shake of her head. He said: “You mustn’t think for an instant that I’ve anything but your ultimate good at heart. I feel--to return to our unworthy comparison--that, in a way, I am your trainer.” She said: “I know. It’s very good of you.” He put a commiserating hand on hers. “Don’t be coddled the wrong way--the injudicious way. Remember you’ve your great gift to guard, and for the sake of that gift everything you may want to do yourself--as a woman--must go into the discard.” A strange exaltation took possession of her. Her cheeks once more bright with the clear pink so characteristic of her beauty, she cried: “Oh, thank you, thank you, Spence! You don’t know what a friend you’ve shown yourself to be--today--at exactly this time!” He stood looking after her as she went away; and I stood looking fixedly at him. He said to me, surprisingly: “It’s desecration!” “Ah you frighten me!” I almost wailed. “You frighten me! What are you trying to do to her? You are revolting!”