"I'll tell you, Rachael," said she, with an evident effort at brightness and naturalness, "I came here to see you about something to-day, but I--I don't quite know how to begin. Only, whatever you think about it, I want you to remember that your opinion is what counts; you're the one person who--who can really advise me, and--and perhaps help me and other people out of a difficulty." Rachael looked at her with a twinge of inward distaste. This rather dramatic start did not promise well; she was to be treated to some youthful heroics. Instantly the hope came to her that Magsie had some new admirer, someone she would really consider as a husband, and wanted to make of Rachael an advocate with Warren, who, in his present absurd state of infatuation, might not find such a situation to his taste. "I want to put to you the case of a friend of mine," Magsie said presently, "a girl who, like myself, is on the stage." Rachael wondered if the girl really hoped to say anything convincing under so thin a disguise, but said nothing herself, and Magsie went on: "She's pretty, and young--" Her tone wavered. "We've had a nice company all winter," she remarked lamely. This was beginning to be rather absurd. Rachael, quite at ease, raised mildly interrogatory eyes to Magsie. "You'll go on with your work, now that you've begun so well, won't you?" she asked casually. "W--w--well, I suppose so," Magsie answered dubiously, flushing a sudden red. "I--don't know what I shall do!" "But surely you've had an unusually encouraging beginning?" pursued Rachael comfortably. "Oh, yes, there's no doubt about that, at least!" Magsie said. About what was there doubt, then? Rachael wondered. She deliberately allowed a little silence to follow this remark, smiling, as if at her own thoughts, as she sewed. The younger woman's gaze roved restlessly about the room, she leaned from her chair to take a framed photograph of the boys from a low bookcase, and studied it with evidently forced attention. "They're stunning!" she said in an undertone as she laid it aside. "They're good little boys," their mother said contentedly. "I know that the queerest persons in the world, about eating and drinking, are actresses, Magsie," she added, smiling, "so I don't know whether to offer you tea, or hot soup, or an egg beaten up in milk, or what! We had a pianist here about a year ago, and--" "Oh, nothing, nothing, thank you, Rachael!" Magsie said eagerly and nervously. "I couldn't--" "The boys may be in soon," Rachael remarked, choosing to ignore her guest's rather unexpected emotion. This seemed to spur Magsie suddenly into speech. She glanced at the tall old moonfaced clock that was slowly ticking near the door, as if to estimate the time left her, and sat suddenly erect on the edge of her chair.