“Will I do for to-night?” she asked timidly, knowing the contrast between herself and Thurley would be cruelly unfair. She winced from it as any woman would wince from having to sit beside the man she loved while he watched the woman of his heart appear in beautiful triumph! Besides, Lorraine had never been to a theater, her father not approving; she was nervous lest she make some embarrassing _faux pas_. “Yes, no one knows us in New York,” he said carelessly. Then they watched Thurley in all her loveliness come on the stage in her _Rosina_ costume of red, yellow and black lace. Lorraine glanced at Dan as Thurley sang and triumphed and sang again and triumphed more and the people near them kept asking who she was. Lorraine, with her pitiful bargain frock, her unpowdered face and awkward bonnet, knew that a shadow had fallen between Dan and herself—Thurley’s shadow—no longer a wild rose, generous and kindly of heart, but a prima donna, the woman that Dan would love hopelessly forever and a day. She applauded Thurley generously, turning her wistful face to Dan’s to say, “She is lovely, isn’t she?” But Lorraine knew that not even the new house with its furnishings nor her wedding ring nor the diamond sunburst could still all the pain of knowing that she had been “married for spite”; she might be the most tender wife and excellent housekeeper in the world yet she was not Thurley, lovely, tyrannical! And as she watched the opera with Thurley its dominating note and Dan’s moody face now defiant, now almost glad, she recalled the superstition about women who married Birge men,—meek little creatures they were who lived only long enough to bear a son and then smiled contentedly and were snuffed out into the unknown! CHAPTER XXI At first fame was good to have, there was no mistaking it. For Thurley achieved delightful freedom by the magic of her success. She began to do all she had planned during her novice period, to try this or that sort of costume, to give “affairs,” if you please; she cultivated a hobby and a “phobia” and acquired a smart wire-haired terrier called “Taffy” whose picture was featured in all the leading newspapers and musical journals. It did not take her long to readjust herself to this new life. Older, tired persons who had played godmother and godfather to her during her apprenticeship watched her in amusement. Not that Thurley ceased to apply herself to work; she was untiring in her efforts, for she felt she would never want to stop learning new and more difficult things. Nor did she stop knowing any one save those who could be of use to her. Instead there was exhibited a refreshing democracy of spirit which governed her likes and dislikes. Bliss told Caleb, “She’s a pleasant little Trojan and one can see at a glance, save for amusing whims, she is as reliable as a grandfather’s clock.” And he told Thurley, who hovered about hoping for some personal understanding or praise,