To Hugh she carelessly said: "Here is another play--a melodrama, to judge from the title. Look it over and see if there is anything in it." As plays were constantly coming in to them, Hugh took this one quite as a matter of routine, with expectation of being bored. He was a little surprised next morning when she asked, "Did you look into that manuscript?" He answered: "No. I didn't get time." She could hardly conceal her impatience. "I wish you'd go over it this morning. From the title it's one of those middle-age Italian things that costume well." "Oh, is it?" he exclaimed. "Well, I'll get right at it." Her interest in it more than the title moved him. It was a most hopeful sign of weakening on her part. He came to lunch full of enthusiasm. "Say, sis, that play is a corker. There is a part in it that sees the _Baroness_ and goes her one better. If the last act keeps up we've got a prize-winner. Who's Edwin Baxter, anyhow?" Helen quietly stirred her tea. "I never heard the name before. A new man in the theatrical world, apparently." "Well, he's all right. I'm going over the whole thing again. Have you read it?" "No, I thought best to let you and Westervelt decide this time. I merely glanced at it." "Well, it looks like the thing to pull us out of our hole." That night Westervelt came behind the scenes with shining face. "I hope you will consent to do this new piece; it is a cracker-jack." He grew cautious. "It really is an immensely better piece of work than _The Baroness_, and yet it has elements of popularity. I have read it hastily. I shall study it to-night. If it looks as big to me to-morrow morning as now I will return to the old arrangement with you--if you wish." "How is the house to-night?" she asked. His face dropped. "No better than last night." He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, ten or fifteen dollars, maybe. We can play all winter to two hundred dollars a night with this play. I do not understand such audiences. Apparently each man sends just one to take his place. There is no increase." "Well, report to me to-morrow about _Alessandra_, then I will decide upon the whole matter." In spite of herself she shared in the glow which shone on the faces of her supports, for the word had been passed to the leading members that they were going back to the old drama. "They've found a new play--a corking melodrama." Royleston straightened. "What's the subject?" "Middle-age Italian intrigue, so Hugh says--bully costumes--a wonder of a part for Merival." "Then we are on velvet again," said Royleston. The influence of the news ran through the action on the stage. The performance took on spirit and gusto. The audience immediately felt the glow of the players' enthusiasm, and warmed to both actress and playwright, and the curtain went down to the most vigorous applause of the entire run. But Westervelt did not perceive this, so engrossed was he in the new manuscript. Reading was prodigious labor for him--required all his attention.