When Brainard confided to Farson the plan he had formed for Louisiana Delacourt’s education, the younger man looked sharply at him for one moment as if he also suspected ulterior motives in this unexpected interest in the young woman, who had given the People’s Theater such dubious notoriety by her performance of Cordelia. In that rapid interchange of glances between the two men, Brainard felt for the first time a slight antagonism to his cheerful and companionable secretary. Why should Farson immediately infer that there was anything more than a disinterested desire on his part to help a poor and promising girl, whom fate had rather casually thrown in his path? Was it necessary that in the theater world this should inevitably be the implication,—that there could be no simple kindness between men and women! “No!” he exclaimed, with a slight smile, answering Farson’s glance, “I don’t mean that!” “Why do you think that it would be a good thing for Louisiana to go abroad now? She’s got a good deal to learn that she could learn here just as well,” the secretary observed evasively. Brainard smiled more openly. It was plain enough that the young secretary did not like the idea of losing sight of their Kansas star, of whom he had seen a good deal in the course of business these last months. “She’s nothing but a kid, you know,” he added in an indifferent tone. “Exactly! And it’s just because she is so much of a child that I think the best thing for her is to have a lot of new experience of a totally different kind from any she’s likely to get over here. What she wants is to grow,—not learn grammar and elocution. She must develop in every way to become the actress that is in her, and that development she will get more easily somewhere out of her old environment—apart from all the inspiration that will come to her eager little mind by seeing real acting and real plays, of which there is much more just at present in Europe than in New York.” “I see you have thought it all out,” the secretary replied dryly. “Yes, I have thought a good deal about Louisiana since last night,” Brainard admitted. It had occurred to him possibly in the course of this thought that the secretary’s growing intimacy with the girl was not altogether advantageous. His nature was too generous, however, to entertain this consideration seriously. The idea of rivalry between them for the girl’s interest was too ridiculous to be thought of, and yet he was forced to recognize in himself a trace of that subtle sex jealousy that seems inevitable wherever two men are concerned with one woman, no matter how trivial the occasion. He put it summarily out of his head. “She won’t be away for always, Ned,” he observed good-naturedly. “And we must give the girl her chance—it’s the least we can do after encouraging her to come on here and join our organization, isn’t it?” “I suppose so,” the secretary agreed more cordially.