“I thought perhaps you hadn’t from your tone,” explained Madge. “No hope of happy endings,” she said with a forced laugh. “Couldn’t marry him I suppose?”!

“I did not know that you had been an actor,” she answered. “Tell me,” she said. “If it had been the photo of a woman with a bony throat and a beaky nose would you have read them?”

“Oh, yes, there’s no make-believe this time,” answered the girl. “A bad thing for her if he wasn’t.” “I want to prove to myself,” she explained, “that I am capable of earning my own living. I am going down into the market-place. If I’m no good, if I can’t take care of even one poor woman, I’ll come back and ask you to keep me.” She was sitting on the arm of his chair, and laughing, she drew his head towards her and pressed it against her. “If I succeed, if I am strong enough to fight the world for myself and win, that will mean I am strong enough and clever enough to help others.” The contract was concluded in Mr. Krebs’ private office: a very stout gentleman with a very thin voice, whose dream had always been to one day be of service to the renowned Mr. Robert Phillips. He was clearly under the impression that he had now accomplished it. Even as Mrs. Phillips took up the pen to sign, the wild idea occurred to Joan of snatching the paper away from her, hustling her into a cab, and in some quiet street or square making the woman see for herself that she was a useless fool; that the glowing dreams and fancies she had cherished in her silly head for fifteen years must all be given up; that she must stand aside, knowing herself of no account.