"Good gad!" ejaculated the spatted gentleman in the aisle seat, "you know, that girl can act!" The old lady in front lifted a frank handkerchief; the giggling girls were raptly watching. Now the GIRL'S big moment came. Her voice, faded and gentle before, was harsh and strident. "_I don't care! I don't care! You hush! You keep still!_" When she gave him his broth she had seemed the gentlest of living creatures; now, pushing him ruthlessly to the floor, she was a fury, pitiless, obsessed. All the starved romance, all the pinched poverty of her life, all the lean and lonely years she had known cried out in hunger, not to be denied; she was a tigress doing battle for her mate. And then, when the rattle and roar of the train died away, BROTHER'S hacking cough sounded from behind the closed door, and stark reality laid hold on her again. Her thin hands went together on her breast and then fell slackly to her sides. She seemed visibly to shrink and shrivel. Racked and spent with her one crowded hour, she stood looking into the bleak and empty vista of the years. I was in the aisle before the curtain fell, speeding past the people, the applauding people, the beautiful, kind, understanding people, past the benediction of Michael Daragh's lifted look. The applause followed me out through the lobby--oh, Sally dear, no choir invisible could make half so celestial a sound!--and when I got behind the scenes it was still coming in--solid, genuine, hearty waves of it. I heard hurrying feet behind me but I did not pause. I guessed who it was, but I wouldn't turn to look. In the orderly chaos of props and people--and it was an ugly land of disillusion no longer but the land of heart's desire, Sally--I found my gallant little band of fighting hope, beaming and breathless after the fifth honest curtain, coming to me on buoyant feet. Stern St. Michael had caught up with me then, and he bent his austere head to say very humbly, "Woman, dear, I'm so high with pride for you, and so low with shame for me, that I could ever be doubting----" But the grimy young stagehand, halting in front of me with an armful of the Tramp Juggler's playthings, cut his sentence in two. "Say,"--he held out a dark and hearty paw--"put her there, sister! Say, I guess maybe that's poor? Say, I guess maybe that's not puttin' it over!" Jubilantly, JANE. CHAPTER V