accepted--and she may easily fail to do herself justice then, cast, as she will be, for minor parts entirely foreign to her bent. To succeed on the stage requires indomitable energy, callousness to rebuffs, tact, luck, talent, and facilities for living six or nine months out of the year without earning a shilling. To get on to the stage requires valuable introductions or considerable means. If a woman has neither, the chances are in favour of her seeking an opening vainly all her life. And as to a young man so situated who seeks it, he is endeavouring to pass through a brick wall. Mamie descended the dingy staircase, and at the foot she saw the girl who had been addressed as "Miss Forbes." She was standing on the doorstep, gathering up her skirts. It had begun to snow again, and she contemplated the dark, damp street shrinkingly. An impulse seized Mamie to speak as she passed. From such trifles great things sometimes followed, she remembered. She was at the age when the possibility of the happy accident recurs to the mind constantly--a will-o'-the-wisp that lightens the gloom. The reflection takes marvellous forms, and at twenty-one the famous actor--of the aspirant's imagination--who goes about the world crying, "A genius! you must come to me!" may be met in any omnibus. The famous actor of the aspirant's imagination is like the editor as conceived by the general public: he spends his life in quest of obscure ability. "If we're going the same way, I can offer you a share of my umbrella," she said. "Oh, thanks!" said the girl in a slightly surprised voice; "I'm going to Charing Cross." "And _I'm_ going to Victoria, so our road is the same," said Mamie. A feeling of passionate pleasure suffused her as she moved away by the girl's side through the yellow fog. The roar of the Strand had momentarily the music of her dreams while she yearned in Duluth; the greatness of the city--the London of theatres, art, and books--throbbed in her veins. She was walking with an actress! "Isn't it beastly?" said the girl. "I suppose you've got to train it?" "Yes; I'm living at Wandsworth. Have _you_ far to go?" "Notting Hill. I take the bus. Passmore hadn't got anything for you, had he?" Mamie shook her head. "We were both unlucky; but perhaps it doesn't matter so much to you?" "Doesn't it!... Have you been on his books long, Miss----?" "Miss Cheriton--Mamie Cheriton." "That's a good name; it sounds like a character in a play--as if she'd have a love-scene under the apple blossom! Where were you last?" "At Mr. Faulkner's; but he didn't know of any vacancy either." "I don't mean that," said Miss Forbes; "I mean, how long have you been out?" "Oh," answered Mamie, "I left home at one o'clock; that's the worst of living such a long way off!" The other stared. "Don't you understand?" she exclaimed. "I mean, what company were you in last, and when did it finish?"