The minister’s exclamation was short and sharp, like a bark of rage. His face was drawn until his mouth was a seam, and his eyes had shrunk to two shafts of light, "Miss Dounay! That is God’s secret. If you had spoken, I should have—" He ceased to speak but held up hands that clenched and unclenched. The actress was feeling confident now. She had goaded this man to rage. Beyond rage might lie weakness and surrender. She threw back her head and laughed. "Yes, I will finish it for you. You would have been inclined to strangle me; but I did not tell him. Yet not for your reason, but for mine. So long as you rest under the charge, your enemies gnash; your friends turn from you. Instead of being insulated from me by all, you are insulated from all by me. There is no one left but me. I love you. I am beautiful, rich, with the glamour of success upon me. I can override anything; defy anything. I can be yours—altogether yours. You can be mine—altogether mine. You can leave these shallow, ungrateful gossips and scandalmongers to prey upon each other, while you and I go away to an Eden of our own." The actress paused, breathless and again to mark effects. The minister’s face had resumed its normal benignity of expression. He was gazing at her thoughtfully, contemplatively. Marien took fresh hope, knowing upon second thought now, as she had known all along, that she could not successfully tempt this man by a life of mere luxurious emptiness. Falling into tones of yet more confiding intimacy, she continued: "Besides, John, I am not jealous of your genius any more. My love has surged even over that. You have still a great dramatic career before you. You shall come into my company. You shall have every opportunity. Within two years you shall be my leading man; within five, co-star with me. Think of it. Your heart is still in the actor’s art. Acting is religion. After God, the actor is the greatest creator. He alone can simulate life. The stage is the most powerful pulpit. Come. We will write your life’s story into a play. We will play the faith and fortitude which you have shown into the very soul of America, like a bed of moral concrete! Are you not moved at that?" She paused, standing with head upon one side, and the old, alluring, coaxing glances stealing up from beneath the coquettish droop of her lids. "No," Hampstead replied seriously. "I am not moved by it at all. Had you made this speech to me five years ago, I should have been in transports. To-day the art of living appeals to me beyond the art of acting. I have no doubt I feel as great a zest, as great a creative thrill in standing true in the position in which you have placed me as you ever can in the most ecstatic raptures of the mimetic art. No, Marien," and his tone was conclusive, "it makes no appeal to me."