But at this moment the telephone rang. Stigler, her manager, was calling. Immediately she forgot their misunderstanding, carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment. Beecher, with a clear vision, followed her, noticing in her voice, as she sought to cajole the manager, the same caressing pleading which she had employed a moment before with him. "Now I really see her," he thought, with a liberation of his spirit. "Emma was entirely wrong. She’s not a woman—she always an actress." "I’ll send you the play right away," she was saying. "Mr. Hargrave is coming. I’ll have him take it to the hotel. But you must read it tonight. Promise! Oh, yes, lots of comedy—delicious! Heart interest and big scenes—yes, sensational. Just the part for Fannestock. I must have him for the part! You’ll see him in every line! Now, Mr. Stigler, please read it tonight!" "Ah, there’s Fannestock too," said Beecher grimly to himself. She rose from telephoning, joyous and excited. "Oh, if Stigler will only see it! It’s a great part—a great part! There’s a wonderful scene at the close of the third act, between the two women and the father, that will bring down the house." Miss Tilbury came in to announce that Mr. Hargrave was calling. An expression of delight lit up the features of the actress. But all at once she turned anxiously to Beecher, who had risen stiffly. "By Jove, I’ve overstayed my time," he said readily, glancing at the clock. She was grateful, and yet dissatisfied that he had suggested what she wished, and, recalling his new spirit of independence, she said anxiously, with a compensating smile: "Teddy, call me up in the morning—this is so important." In the hallway he stepped aside while Hargrave, a frail, oldish-young man, entered, with his famished, doubting glance. "Oh, it is wonderful—wonderful!" cried the actress, seizing both his hands. "I am still thrilled. Wonderful—-wonderful!" "You liked it?" said Hargrave timidly. At her words, he saw heaven open before his eyes in a confused vision of frantic audiences, applauding critics, checks for thousands for royalty, all confused by rolling automobiles, magnificent bouquets and languishing feminine eyes. "Like it!" continued Nan Charters, retaining hold of one hand to draw him into the salon. "It is marvelous! How could you know all this so young!" Beecher, in the excitement, quietly made his escape. In the elevator, to the surprise of the wondering bell-boy, he was seized with a mad laughter, which continued to convulse him as he rolled into the street. "Heaven be praised!" he exclaimed. "Cured—cured, by Jove! I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds!" On turning the corner of his club, he ran into Becker, a club acquaintance whom he tolerantly disliked. "Becker, old boy," he said, seizing his arm and flourishing his cane in the direction of the club, "what can I buy you? Come on—_en avant_!" "What the deuce has got in you?" said that correct youth.