“I was brought up in the privacy of domestic life; in the deep seclusion of the country. I have never been used to _society_, much less to _publicity_, and I am sure, that no matter how well I might be instructed in my part, when I should come before an audience, I should forget all about it, and half die of shame.” “Ah, I suppose you have no vocation for it. An actress forgets her own identity in that of the character she represents, and that enables her to go through things she could not otherwise endure. But, my dear, I do not see anything else you can do; and as for the ‘stage fright,’ as it is called among us, you would soon get that off.” Zuleime shook her head. “My dear, you do not yet know the plan I have for you. I never thought—no one would ever think of a sudden grand debut for _you_. Nothing but great genius, strong vocation, and perfect self-possession on the part of the _debutante_, would justify such a thing. No—the art must be acquired, as other arts are—slowly. This is the plan I had for you, and it entirely precludes the possibility of a stage fright, since you are gradually inured to it. Do you understand me, now?” “No, I do not!” “Well, then, for instance—and to come to the point! The opera season is about to commence, and the manager wishes to engage about half a dozen young girls as chorus singers. Will you be one? The lowest salary they ever give a chorus singer is six dollars a week—that is four times as much as you ever earned by the tedious needle. Will you consent?” Still Zuleime was silent. “After the opera season is over, I make no doubt that your youth, beauty and grace, and your very fine voice, will secure you a permanent engagement at an advanced salary. Will you go with me to the manager to-morrow?” “No,” said Zuleime, “I should not dare to go upon the stage. I could not face an audience.” “And you need not face them! You would be in a group of young girls, and no one would notice you, except casually as a part of the scenery. The attention of the audience is taken up with the principal performers. Besides, no one will know who you are. Your name need not appear upon the bills. I will take every care of your feelings, if, indeed, you can be sensible of them when hunger and cold are felt.” “I do not like the life,” said Zuleime. “I had almost as willingly starve.” The actress arose and rung the bell. “Oh! it is nothing to me, Mrs. Fairfax. Do as you please. I have no earthly interest to serve in persuading you to this step,” she said, with the old, cross, querulous look on her haggard face, and in her beautiful dark, gray eyes. Bertha came in and cleared away the table. Mrs. Knight walked up and down the room in a hasty. irritated manner.