Oh, I knew better; but I was bored--bored out there and I wanted a chance to live. We didn’t get along very well--he and I; partly my fault. He couldn’t be happy with a woman who also had a spark of creation tucked away in her soul. Then, besides, I had made up my mind I’d do something because I had to keep alive. I turned to the stage--most of us poor fools do. But I happened to have a way with me and a pair of shoulders that were proud of my face. (_Sarcastically_.) The critics called it personality. (_Quickly_) I wonder if you also know I lived in a five-dollar-a-week boarding-house with circus acrobats on the floor above, a sad soprano in a closet next to mine and a smell of cooking all over so I wouldn’t be lonely? (_Almost unconsciously her voice at times betrays an unexpected commonness._) How I hated it! How I wanted these feathers and gilt! And every time I made up my face in that two-by-four part I had, I determined to succeed somehow--_anyhow_. I deserve every bit of success I’ve got, for I worked hard getting the burrs out of my speech and some grammar into it. (MRS. FROWDE _moves uncomfortably again_.) That’s the truth. People suspected I had a brain and I had; but I wasn’t wasting it on books--I was studying the hearts and souls of the sort of people I needed to get along. (_With increasing relish at the effect of her revelations._) And I saw to succeed in my life I had to grow hard inside and soft out. So I affected my husky voice and my sad smile; sadness gave me a touch of mystery and encouraged curiosity. I knew I’d have to keep my face smooth, too; so I stopped feeling for others and thought only of myself. Suffering isn’t good for the complexion. But I helped everybody in convenient ways, because I knew I could make them help me in greater. And as I began to get along I went out more to teas and the like so I could meet the people I could use. MRS. FROWDE But, my dear.... PATRICIA