Mildred rose and, how she never knew, crossed the stage. She stumbled into the flats, fumbled her way to the passageway, to her dressing-room. She felt that she must escape from that theater quickly, or she would give way to some sort of wild attack of nerves. She fairly ran through the streets to Mrs. Belloc's, shut herself in her room. But instead of the relief of a storm of tears, there came a black, hideous depression. Hour after hour she sat, almost without motion. The afternoon waned; the early darkness came. Still she did not move--could not move. At eight o'clock Mrs. Belloc knocked. Mildred did not answer. Her door opened--she had forgotten to lock it. In came Mrs. Belloc. "Isn't that you, sitting by the window?" she said. "Yes," replied Mildred. "I recognized the outline of your hat. Besides, who else could it be but you? I've saved some dinner for you. I thought you were still out." Mildred did not answer. "What's the matter?" said Agnes? "Ill? bad news?" "I've lost my position," said Mildred. A pause. Then Mrs. Belloc felt her way across the room until she was touching the girl. "Tell me about it, dear," said she. In a monotonous, lifeless way Mildred told the story. It was some time after she finished when Agnes said: "That's bad--bad, but it might be worse. You must go to see the manager, Crossley." "Why?" said Mildred. "Tell him what you told me." Mildred's silence was dissent. "It can't do any harm," urged Agnes. "It can't do any good," replied Mildred. "That isn't the way to look at it." A long pause. Then Mildred said: "If I got a place somewhere else, I'd meet the same thing in another form." "You've got to risk that." "Besides, I'd never have had a chance of succeeding if Mr. Ransdell hadn't taught me and stood behind me." It was many minutes before Agnes Belloc said in a hesitating, restrained voice: "They say that success--any kind of success--has its price, and that one has to be ready to pay that price or fail." Again the profound silence. Into it gradually penetrated the soft, insistent sound of the distant roar of New York--a cruel, clamorous, devouring sound like a demand for that price of success. Said Agnes timidly: "Why not go to see Mr. Ransdell." "He wouldn't make it up," said Mildred. "And I--I couldn't. I tried to marry Stanley Baird for money--and I couldn't. It would be the same way now--only more so." "But you've got to do something." "Yes, and I will." Mildred had risen abruptly, was standing at the window. Agnes Belloc could feel her soul rearing defiantly at the city into which she was gazing. "I will!" she replied. "It sounds as if you'd been pushed to where you'd turn and make a fight," said Agnes. "I hope so," said Mildred. "It's high time."