"I'll leave that to my husband," I replied with tearful dignity. Miss Burton contemplated me between violent puffs of her cigarette. Then she shook her head. "Um-um, girlie; no, sir ... you mustn't tell your husband." "Why not?" I demanded. "Well, if you tell your husband, and he's the man I think he is, he'll go straight up and knock the old beast down. That will get him in bad; this manager is a power and controls a dozen attractions, as well as theatres. Your young man may find it difficult to get an engagement in the future." Miss Burton paused to allow the idea to percolate into my brain. "Then there's another side to it. If you tell your husband and he does not go up and knock the fresh gentleman down, you'll despise him for it ... oh, yes you will! You would not acknowledge it even to yourself, but, way down deep in the bottom of your heart, you would never forgive your husband for not resenting the insult to you.... Better not tell him at all...." We both were silent for some time. I was struggling with a thousand conflicting emotions. "You see, girlie, you've got an awful lot to learn. You're new to the game. That's the reason these things go so hard with you." "Do you mean that 'these things' are a part--a regular part--of the business?" I began, with a burst of resentment. "I don't believe it! I can't believe it! I'm sure my experience was exceptional. I know that girls who typewrite for a living, clerks and even housemaids have unpleasant experiences, for I have read about it in the papers. There are bad men in all walks of life. I travelled nearly a whole season before I was married, and--"