Her eyes danced with fun. "I played _The Lady of Lyons_ in a 'kitchen set,' and the death-scene in _East Lynne_ before a 'wood drop.' And my costumes were something marvellous, weren't they, mother? Well, this lasted two seasons--summer seasons; while I continued to read in winter in order to indulge my passion for the stage in summer and early autumn. Then I secured a small part in a real company, and at a salary that permitted me to send some money home. I knocked about the country this way two seasons more--that makes me twenty-two. I knew the office of every manager in New York by this time, but had been able to reach an audience with but one or two. They were kind enough, but failed to 'see anything' in me, as the phrase goes; and I was quite disheartened. Oh, 'the Rialto'!" Her face clouded and her voice softened. "It is a brilliant and amusing place to the successful, but to the girl who walks it seeking a theatrical engagement it is a heartless and cruel place. You can see them there to-day--girls eager and earnest and ready to work hard and conscientiously--haunting the agencies and the anterooms of the managers just as I did in those days--only five years ago." "It seems incredible," exclaimed Douglass. "I thought you came here from a London success." "So I did, and that is the miraculous chapter of my story. I went to London with Farnum--with only a little part--but McLennan saw me and liked my work, and asked me to take the American adventuress in his new play. And then--my fortune was made. The play was only a partial success, but my own position was established. I continued to play the gay and evil-minded French and Russian woman of the English stage till I was tired of them. Then I tried _Joan of Arc_ and _Charlotte Corday_. The public forced me back to _The Baroness Telka_, and to wealth and great fame; and then I read your little book, which seemed directed straight to me, and I asked Hugh to write you--now you have the 'story of me life.' I have had no struggle since--only hard work and great acclaim." She faced her mother with a proud smile. Then her face darkened. "But--there is always a but--I want New York to know me in some better way. I'm tired of these women with cigarettes and spangled dinner-gowns." She laid her hand again on her mother's knee, and the gentle old fingers closed around the firm, smooth wrist. "I've told mother that I will cut these roles out. We are at last in a position to do as we please. I am now waiting for something worth while to come to me. That is my present situation, Mr. Douglass. I don't know why I've been so frank. Now let me hear your play."