It was a genuine surprise to Banneker to find that he had not seen the actress for nearly two months. Certainly he had not specially missed her, yet it was keenly pleasurable to be brought into contact again with that restless, vital, outgiving personality. She looked tired and a little dispirited and--for she was of that rare type in which weariness does not dim, but rather qualifies and differentiates its beauty--quite as lovely as he had ever seen her. The query which gave him his clue to her special and immediate interest was: "Why is Haslett leaving The Patriot?" Haslett was the Chicago critic transplanted to take Gurney's place. "Is he? I didn't know. You ought not to mourn his loss, Betty." "But I do. At least, I'm afraid I'm going to. Do you know who the new critic is?" "No. Do you? And how do you? Oh, I suppose I ought to understand that, though," he added, annoyed that so important a change should have been kept secret from him. With characteristic directness she replied, "You mean Tertius Marrineal?" "Naturally." "That's all off." "Betty! Your engagement to him?" "So far as there ever was any." "Is it really off? Or have you only quarreled?" "Oh, no. I can't imagine myself quarreling with Tertius. He's too impersonal. For the same reason, and others, I can't see myself marrying him." "But you must have considered it, for a time." "Not very profoundly. I don't want to marry a newspaper. Particularly such a newspaper as The Patriot. For that matter, I don't want to marry anybody, and I won't!" "That being disposed of, what's the matter with The Patriot? It's been treating you with distinguished courtesy ever since Marrineal took over charge." "It has. That's part of his newspaperishness." "From our review of your new play I judge that it was written by the shade of Shakespeare in collaboration with the ghost of Moliere, and that your acting in it combines all the genius of Rachel, Kean, Booth, Mrs. Siddons, and the Divine Sarah." "This is no laughing matter," she protested. "Have you seen the play?" "No. I'll go to-night." "Don't. It's rotten." "Heavens!" he cried in mock dismay. "What does this mean? Our most brilliant young--" "And I'm as bad as the play--almost. The part doesn't fit me. It's a fool part." "Are you quarreling with The Patriot because it has tempered justice with mercy in your case?" "Mercy? With slush. Slathering slush." "Come to my aid, Memory! Was it not a certain Miss Raleigh who aforetime denounced the ruffian Gurney for that he vented his wit upon a play in which she appeared. And now, because--" "Yes; it was. I've no use for the smart-aleck school of criticism. But, at least, what Gurney wrote was his own. And Haslett, even if he is an old grouch, was honest. You couldn't buy their opinions over the counter." Banneker frowned. "I think you'd better explain, Betty." "Do you know Gene Zucker?" "Never heard of him."