“But, John Storm, have you cast me off entirely? Do you intend to abandon me? Do you think there is no salvation left for me? And are you going to let me sink in all this mire without stretching out a hand to help me? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I don't know what has come over the silly old world since I came back to London. Think it must be teething, judging by the sharpness of its bite, and feel as if I should like to give it a dose of syrup of squills.” As John read the letter his eyelids quivered and his mouth relaxed. Then he glanced at it again, and his face clouded. “I can not leave her entirely to the mercy of men like these,” he thought. This innocent daring, this babelike ripping up of serviceable conventions--God knows what advantage such men might take of it. He must see her once again, to warn, to counsel her. It was his duty--he must not shrink from it. * * * * * It had been a day of painful impressions to Glory. Early in the morning Lord Robert had called to take her to the “reading” of the new play. It took place in the saloon of an unoccupied Strand theatre, of which the stage also had been engaged for rehearsal. The company were gathered there, and, being more or less experienced actors and actresses, they received her with looks of courteous indulgence, as one whose leading place must be due to other things than talent. This stung her; she felt her position to be a false one, and was vexed that she had permitted Lord Robert to call for her. But her humiliation had yet hardly begun. While they stood waiting for the manager, who was late, a gorgeous person with a waxed mustache and in a fur-lined coat, redolent of the mixed odour of perfume and stale tobacco, forced his way up to her and offered his card. She knew the man in a moment. “I'm Josephs,” he said in a confidential undertone, “and if there's anything I can do for you--acting management--anything--it vill give me pleesure.” Glory flushed up and said, “But you don't seem to remember, sir, that we have met before.” The man smiled blandly. “Oh, yes. I've kept track of you ever since and know all about you. You hadn't made your appearance then, and naturally I couldn't do much. But now--_now_ if you vill give me de pleesure----” “Then an agent is one who can do nothing for you when you want help, but when you don't want it----” The man laughed to carry off his audacity. “Veil, you know vhat they say of us--agent from _agere_, 'to do,' and we're always 'doing.' Ha, ha! But if you are villing to let bygones be bygones, I am, and velcome.”