Again Miss Pritchard walked to the window. Elsie's eyes followed her in agonized appeal. "Cousin Julia!" she cried desperately. And Miss Pritchard was at her side in a moment. But though her face was all tenderness and sympathy, the pain that shone through it would have been severe retribution even had Elsie been altogether impenitent. "Oh, Cousin Julia, I was sorry!" the girl cried, "I was terribly sorry. But it only came on me when everything was--sort of--_fixed_, you know. I couldn't bear to break up Elsie Marley's happiness at Enderby, and--I couldn't bear to have it--hurt you--though I know this is a lot worse. So I was going to disappear. I had my mind all made up. I was going to leave a letter so that you wouldn't feel troubled. And I thought that would sort of make up for everything, because I never would have been happy again. And then--oh, Cousin Julia, then came that chance that I knew led straight to the stage, and I lost my head. I chose to be wicked, and I suppose I lost my soul as well as my head, only--there's something that hurts as if I still had one." Again the girl wept wildly. But now Miss Pritchard's arm was enfolding her. "No, precious child, you haven't lost it. And if you were sorry--but we won't talk more about it now. I'll hold that in my heart as comfort until to-morrow and then we'll see what we can do to straighten it all out. At this moment we must consider that there's the evening performance to go through, and being the last, it will be very taxing. Somehow, we'll make things right, among us all. You go to your room now and lie down. If you think of this, only say to yourself that it's over, and be thankful for that. And we two women who love you so that we're all but jealous of one another already will plan the next--or rather, the first move. Come, child." At the door Elsie turned. "Is the other Elsie all right, auntie?" she asked anxiously. "Yes, dear," returned Mrs. Moss rather doubtfully. "At least--well, as a matter of fact the poor child is just--waiting. I made her promise not to say a word to the Middletons until I came on here and returned. I am afraid--dear me, I am sure I don't know _what_ I said to the girl. I am afraid I must have been rather hard on her." "Oh, auntie! And it wasn't her fault in the least! I just dragged her into it. It was all for me. And she's the sweetest, gentlest thing! And not the least little bit her fault! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" The girl wrung her hands in genuine distress. Mrs. Moss shook her head mournfully. "I might have known," she acknowledged regretfully. "But, oh, Miss Pritchard, I was nearly distracted. It all came upon me so suddenly--not a whisper of warning."