“We won’t argue, _mon frère_, because, since you always read books instead of people, you are not very well up in the subject. To put it both candidly and vulgarly, I haven’t any use for Doris Hayward at all. Ethel I admire tremendously, though I don’t think she likes me; and Basil is a saint straight out of heaven, suffering martyrdom for no conceivable reason, but Doris is like a useless ornamental china shepherdess, which ought to be put on a high shelf where it can’t get itself nor any one else into trouble. I’m really dreadfully afraid if I had to spend a whole evening alone with her, I should drop her and break her to relieve my feelings.” “Well, you needn’t worry”—moving coldly away. “I have far too much respect for Doris to allow her to come here just to be criticised by you. I will explain that you are unexpectedly engaged,” and he opened a paper in a manner to close the conversation. Hal made a little grimace at him behind it, and retired discreetly to prepare for her daily sojourn in the City. It happened, however, when, a year later, Lorraine came back to take up her theatrical career again in England, there was some vague change in her that made Dudley less severe in his criticisms. Trouble had not hardened her, nor softened her, but it had made her a little less sure of herself, and a little more willing to please. Hitherto she had taken rather a pleasure in shocking Dudley, under the impression that it would do him good and open his mind a little. Now she had a greater respect for his sterling side, and could smile kindly at his little foibles and fads. The result was that Dudley admitted, a trifle grudgingly, she had changed for the better, and rather looked forward to the occasional evenings she spent with Hal at their Bloomsbury apartments. He also had to admit that success had in no wise spoilt her, that it probably never would. The year of absence, it was soon seen, had not injured her reputation in the least. She came back to the stage renewed and invigorated, and with still more of that depth of feeling and atmosphere of soul which had so enriched her personations before. She became, very speedily, without any question, one of the leading actressess of the day; and the veil of mystery that hung over the sudden termination of her short married life, if anything, enhanced her charm to a mystery-loving public. And all the time, as Dudley could not but see, she never changed to Hal. From adulation and adoration, from triumphs that might easily turn any head she always came quickly back to the little Bloomsbury sitting-room when she could, to have one of their old gay gossips and merry laughs. She seemed in some way to find a rest there that she could not get elsewhere, in the company of people who expected her to live up to a recognised standard of individuality.