The day after Carrie’s appearance on the Avery stage, Mrs. Hurstwood visited the races with Jessica and a youth of her acquaintance, Mr. Bart Taylor, the son of the owner of a local house-furnishing establishment. They had driven out early, and, as it chanced, encountered several friends of Hurstwood, all Elks, and two of whom had attended the performance the evening before. A thousand chances the subject of the performance had never been brought up had Jessica not been so engaged by the attentions of her young companion, who usurped as much time as possible. This left Mrs. Hurstwood in the mood to extend the perfunctory greetings of some who knew her into short conversations, and the short conversations of friends into long ones. It was from one who meant but to greet her perfunctorily that this interesting intelligence came. “I see,” said this individual, who wore sporting clothes of the most attractive pattern, and had a field-glass strung over his shoulder, “that you did not get over to our little entertainment last evening.” “No?” said Mrs. Hurstwood, inquiringly, and wondering why he should be using the tone he did in noting the fact that she had not been to something she knew nothing about. It was on her lips to say, “What was it?” when he added, “I saw your husband.” Her wonder was at once replaced by the more subtle quality of suspicion. “Yes,” she said, cautiously, “was it pleasant? He did not tell me much about it.” “Very. Really one of the best private theatricals I ever attended. There was one actress who surprised us all.” “Indeed,” said Mrs. Hurstwood. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have been there, really. I was sorry to hear you weren’t feeling well.” Feeling well! Mrs. Hurstwood could have echoed the words after him open-mouthed. As it was, she extricated herself from her mingled impulse to deny and question, and said, almost raspingly: “Yes, it is too bad.” “Looks like there will be quite a crowd here to-day, doesn’t it?” the acquaintance observed, drifting off upon another topic. The manager’s wife would have questioned farther, but she saw no opportunity. She was for the moment wholly at sea, anxious to think for herself, and wondering what new deception was this which caused him to give out that she was ill when she was not. Another case of her company not wanted, and excuses being made. She resolved to find out more. “Were you at the performance last evening?” she asked of the next of Hurstwood’s friends who greeted her as she sat in her box. “Yes. You didn’t get around.” “No,” she answered, “I was not feeling very well.” “So your husband told me,” he answered. “Well, it was really very enjoyable. Turned out much better than I expected.” “Were there many there?” “The house was full. It was quite an Elk night. I saw quite a number of your friends—Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Barnes, Mrs. Collins.” “Quite a social gathering.” “Indeed it was. My wife enjoyed it very much.” Mrs. Hurstwood bit her lip.