and listened to her coldly, was her elder sister.
Before the actress of the evening had been five
minutes on the stage, Norah detected, to her own
indescribable astonishment, that Magdalen had
audaciously individualised the feeble amiability of
"Julia's" character, by seizing no less a person
than herself as the model to act it by. She saw all
her own little formal peculiarities of manner and
movement, unblushingly reproduced—and even
the very tone of her voice so accurately mimicked
from time to time, that the accents startled her
as if she was speaking herself, with an echo on
the stage. The effect of this cool appropriation
of Norah's identity to theatrical purposes, on
the audience—who only saw results—asserted
itself in a storm of applause on Magdalen's exit.
She had won two incontestable triumphs in her
first scene. By a dexterous piece of mimicry,
she had made a living reality of one of the most
insipid characters in the English drama; and she
had roused to enthusiasm an audience of two
hundred exiles from the blessings of ventilation,
all simmering together in their own animal
heat. Under the circumstances, where is the
actress by profession who could have done much
more?

But the event of the evening was still to come
Magdalen's disguised reappearance at the end of
the act, in the character of " Lucy"—with false
hair and false eyebrows, with a bright-red
complexion and patches on her cheeks, with the
gayest colours flaunting in her dress, and the
shrillest vivacity of voice and manner—fairly
staggered the audience. They looked down at
their programmes, in which the representative of
Lucy figured under an assumed name; looked up
again at the stage; penetrated the disguise;
and vented their astonishment in another round
of applause, louder and heartier even than the
last. Norah herself could not deny this time,
that the tribute of approbation had been well
deserved. There, forcing its way steadily through
all the faults of inexperience—there, plainly
visible to the dullest of the spectators, was the
rare faculty of dramatic impersonation, expressing
itself, in every look and action of this girl of
eighteen, who now stood on a stage for the first
time in her life. Failing in many minor requisites
of the double task which she had undertaken, she
succeeded in the one important necessity of keeping
the main distinctions of the two characters
thoroughly apart. Everybody felt that the difficulty
lay here—everybody saw the difficulty conquered
—everybody echoed the manager's enthusiasm at
rehearsal, which had hailed her as a born actress.

When the drop-scene descended for the first
time, Magdalen had concentrated in herself the
whole interest and attraction of the play. The
audience politely applauded Miss Marrable, as
became the guests assembled in her father's
house: and good humouredly encouraged the
remainder of the company, to help them through
a task for which they were all, more or less,
palpably unfit. But, as the play proceeded,
nothing roused them to any genuine expression
of interest when Magdalen was absent from the
scene. There was no disguising it: Miss Marrable
and her bosom friends had been all hopelessly
cast in the shade, by the new recruit
whom they had summoned to assist them, in the
capacity of forlorn hope. And this on Miss
Marrable's own birthday! and this in her father's
house! and this after the unutterable sacrifices
of six weeks past! Of all the domestic disasters
which the thankless theatrical enterprise had
inflicted on the Marrable family, the crowning
misfortune was now consummated by Magdalen's
success.

Leaving Mr. Vanstone and Norah, on the
conclusion of the play, among the guests in the
supper-room, Miss Garth went behind the
scenes; ostensibly anxious to see if she could
be of any use; really bent on ascertaining
whether Magdalen's head had been turned by
the triumphs of the evening. It would not have
surprised Miss Garth if she had discovered her
pupil in the act of making terms with the manager
for her forthcoming appearance in a public
theatre. As events really turned out, she found
Magdalen on the stage, receiving, with gracious
smiles, a card which the manager presented to her
with a professional bow. Noticing Miss Garth's
mute look of inquiry, the civil little man
hastened to explain that the card was his own, and
that he was merely asking the favour of Miss
Vanstone's recommendation at any future
opportunity.

"This is not the last time the young lady will
be concerned in private theatricals, I'll answer
for it," said the manager. "And if a
superintendent is wanted on the next occasion, she
has kindly promised to say a good word for me.
I am always to be heard of, Miss, at that address."
Saying those words, he bowed again, and discreetly
disappeared.

Vague suspicions beset the mind of Miss
Garth, and urged her to insist on looking at the
card. No more harmless morsel of pasteboard
was ever passed from one hand to another. The
card contained nothing but the manager's name,
and, under it, the name and address of a
theatrical agent in London.

"It is not worth the trouble of keeping," said
Miss Garth.

Magdalen caught her hand, before she could
throw the card away—possessed herself of it the
next instant—and put it in her pocket.

"I promised to recommend him, " she said—
'and that's one reason for keeping his card. If
it does nothing else, it will remind me of the
happiest evening of my life—and that's another.
Come!" she cried, throwing her arms round
Miss Garth with a feverish gaiety—"congratulate
me on my success!"

"I will congratulate you when you have got
over it," said Miss Garth.

In half an hour more, Magdalen had changed
her dress; had joined the guests; and had soared
into an atmosphere of congratulation, high above
the reach of any controlling influence that Miss
Garth could exercise. Frank, dilatory in all his
proceedings, was the last of the dramatic company