Turning quietly, he found himself face to face with a bright-eyed, full-bearded little man of forty, who used an eye-glass, and spoke with the greatest suspicion of a Scottish accent. ‘Crieff?’ ‘Yes,’ returned the little man. ‘But is it yourself? How long have you been in England?’ ‘Just one month,’ said Sutherland. ‘When I last heard of you, you were somewhere in the wilds of North America. There was a paragraph going round that you had joined a Free-love community in the Western States. Well, of all the places in the world, the last I should expect to find you in is a theatre. Do you like the new actress?’ ‘I am not a very good judge of acting,’ replied Sutherland, quietly; ‘but if you mean do I like her personally----’ ‘Well, it comes to that.’ ‘Then I think she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’ ‘You don’t say that!’ said the little man, opening his eyes. ‘Only once in my life before, and that was years ago, under extraordinary circumstances, have I seen such a face. Should it be the same--but no, that is scarcely possible. Do you know anything of Miss Vere’s history?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘Of course, it is not her first appearance on the stage.’ ‘I think not. She has had some years of practice in the provinces. If you are interested in the lady, come and sup with me to-night at the Harum-Scarum.’ ‘What’s that?’ ‘A club of night-birds, where the small critics compare their notes and pick each other’s brains for ideas. The strongest will and the loudest voice settle the matter, and what they say overnight is echoed in a dozen newspapers next morning.’ ‘But what has that to do with Miss Vere?’ i Everything. You’ll hear all that is known concerning her, for the night-birds know everything, and--but the curtain’s going up. Of course you’ll come?’ ‘Yes,’ said Sutherland; and the two men returned to their places in the auditorium. The third act was a revelation and a surprise, even to those who believed most in the new actress. In the great scene with Pisanio, when, on her way to Milford Haven, Imogen learns for the first time her husband’s diabolical suspicions, the actress fairly took the house by storm, till, at the great speech ending: Prithee dispatch. The lamb entreats the butcher; where’s thy knife? Thou art too slow to do thy master’s bidding, When I deserve it, too!-- the whole audience rose in one surge of vehement applause. Pale as death, with her large eyes gleaming, and her delicate frame trembling like a leaf, Miss Vere trembled before the unexpected tempest, and it was some minutes before the scene could proceed. When it did so the actress seemed moved to the quick, and the pensive wail: Talk thy tongue weary; speak I have heard. I am a strumpet; and mine ear, Therein false struck, can make no greater wound, Nor tent to bottom that--