shadow, and in her lust for personal success she might abruptly have found that the play had stopped running. Luckily, it was not too late to remedy the mistake. Here was the scene set for a new act in which Tony must be allowed his chance. Poor old boy, he was not asking for much, and he was still so dependent upon her that it would be a pleasure to spoil him a little now. Should she not really be flattered that he loved her more than an heir to his name, his rank, and his fortune? What would it signify if the house of Clare became extinct? Would those ladies in the long gallery, those ladies simpering eternally at sea and sky, be a whit less immobile if children laughed on the lawns below? Would they blink their eyes or move a muscle of their rosy lips? Not they. And if strangers held their beauty in captivity, would they care? Not they. And if the earth fell into the sun so that nothing of poor mortality, not even Shakespeare, endured, would they simper less serenely in the moment before their painted lips blistered and were consumed? Not a whit less serenely. None of the people on other planets would care if the fifth Earl of Clarehaven was the last; even if the people of Mars had a telescope big enough to see what was happening on earth, they would only watch us with less compassion than we watch ants on a burning log. "And if by chance they have got such a telescope," Dorothy murmured, "how absurd we must look." Earth shrank to nothing even as she spoke, for on that thought she fell asleep where she was sitting and did not wake until Tony came back. "Hullo, Doodles! Why do you go to sleep in your chair?" he asked. "Did you enjoy the theater?" "Well, as a matter of fact," he admitted, "I didn't use the box. I thought, as you wouldn't come, I'd drop in and have a look at the new show at the Vanity. Pretty good, really. Your friend Olive Fanshawe was in a quintet. She has a few lines to speak, too, and looks very jolly. I wish you'd come with me one night. I think you'd enjoy it." "I will if you like," said Dorothy. "No, really?" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. "Now, isn't that splendid! I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll have a party for my birthday next week. Dine at the Carlton. Two boxes at the Vanity, and supper afterward at the Savoy. I say I shall enjoy it, Doodles!" "How old will you be?" she asked, with a smile. "Twenty-six. Aging fast. Have to hurry up and enjoy ourselves while we can." "I shall be twenty-five in March," she said. Then suddenly she seemed able to throw off all her fatigue and to forget all her disappointment. "Sorry I've been so dull these last few weeks," she murmured. "Tony, do you still love me?" "You never need ask me that," he said. "But do you love me?" She nodded. "Couldn't you say it? You never have, you know. Couldn't you just whisper 'yes'?" "Yes." "Cleared it," he shouted, and while he was in his dressing-room she heard him singing: