Mr. Brandreth cast his eye over the package. “What do you call it? So much depends upon a title with the public.” “I had thought of several titles: the hero’s name for one; the heroine’s for another. Then I didn’t know but _A Modern Romeo_ would do. It’s very much on the lines of the play.” “Indeed!” said Mr. Brandreth, with a sudden interest that flattered Ray with fresh hopes. “That’s very curious. I once took part in an amateur performance of _Romeo_ myself. We gave it in the open air. The effect was very novel.” “I should think it might be,” said Ray. He hastened to add, “My story deals, of course, with American life, and the scene is laid in the little village where I grew up.” “Our play,” said Mr. Brandreth, “was in a little summer place in Massachusetts. One of the ladies gave us her tennis-ground, and we made our exits and our entrances through the surrounding shrubbery. You’ve no idea how beautiful the mediæval dresses looked in the electric light. It was at night.” “It must have been beautiful,” Ray hastily admitted. “My Juliet is the daughter of the village doctor, and my Romeo is a young lawyer, who half kills a cousin of hers for trying to interfere with them.” “That’s good,” said Mr. Brandreth. “I took the part of Romeo myself, and Mrs. Brandreth--she was Miss Chapley, then--was cast for Juliet; but another girl who had refused the part suddenly changed her mind and claimed it, and we had the greatest time to keep the whole affair from going to pieces. I beg your pardon; I interrupted you.” “Not at all,” said Ray. “It must have been rather difficult. In my story there has been a feud between the families of the lovers about a land boundary; and both families try to break off the engagement.” “That’s very odd,” said Mr. Brandreth. “The play nearly broke off my acquaintance with Mrs. Brandreth. Of course she was vexed--as anybody would be--at having to give up the part at the eleventh hour, when she’d taken so much trouble with it; but when she saw my suffering with the other girl, who didn’t know half her lines, and walked through it all like a mechanical doll, she forgave me. _Romeo_ is my favorite play. Did you ever see Julia Marlowe in it?” “No.” “Then you never _saw_ Juliet! I used to think Margaret Mather was about the loveliest Juliet, and in fact she has a great deal of passion”-- “My Juliet,” Ray broke in, “is one of those impassioned natures. When she finds that the old people are inexorable, she jumps at the suggestion of a secret marriage, and the lovers run off and are married, and come back and live separately. They meet at a picnic soon after, where Juliet goes with her cousin, who makes himself offensive to the husband, and finally insults him. They happen to be alone together near the high bank of a river, and the husband, who is a quiet fellow of the deadly sort, suddenly throws the cousin over the cliff. The rest are dancing”--