idea of the moment engendered by excitement
and success; and he knew himself too well
not to doubt his own ability to persuade her
to abandon the resolve.

"Remember, Nina, whom you shipwreck
by this course," he urged; "poor Swete now
dreams that you are his—"

"Not now," she cried, "we are not to
speak of love again. He has told me that I
shall not act on the stage. SHALL not! I
am glad to think that I have escaped the
man. But he shall hear of me, as all the
world shall hear; and you, my Cecil, brother
—now that all familiar faces will be set
against me—you alone, I look to now for
help."

They two had many more conversations of
this nature. There was endless talk and
oceans of advice, and almost universal
censure poured upon them from all sides, as well.
But the end was, that Nina had her way.

Their comfortable Brentfell home was let;
and, since it was of course absolutely necessary
that a tragic star of such a magnitude
should make its first appearance in the
metropolitan firmament, the Hothams
removed to London.

Nina went through a course of training in
elocution and deportment, with a patience
hardly to have been expected of her; and,
in six months' time, was pronounced by her
theatrical Coach (a gentleman at the very
top of his profession) as perfect as art could
make her—which indeed was true.

While she continued to occupy herself in
the study of various characters—each of
which, however, was the most ambitious in its
particular piece—Cecil set every wheel within
his reach in motion, to provide her with
a suitable engagement. With money and
friends in plenty, her position was of course
a far more favourable one than that of many
a more gifted débutante. Still she did not
find the thing she sought. More than one
manager of this and that great house had
interviews with the young lady at her private
residence without the expected offer of the
position of first tragédienne being made.
They saw her, and were charmed. Her face,
her figure, her carriage, her action even,
delighted them; but the words themselves
were often wanting, and the sense of them
it had been out of the power of the theatrical
Coach (who, perhaps, did not know it himself)
to convey.

Nina grew sad and heart-sick at the lack
of generous enthusiasm in these personages;
whom she had pictured to herself all eager to
secure her for their own. Cecil was indignant
beyond measure at their ignorance and want
of taste.

"These persons who have the leading
theatres," said he, kissing away her tears,
"are given up to particular styles; to mechanical
and stereotyped characters; to women
more like lay-figures than actresses. They
know absolutely nothing of genius. They do
not understand the language of Nature, even
when they hear it spoken by one so noble as
yourself. It is the people only who have the
power to put you upon your rightful throne.
You shall appear at some minor house under
an assumed name; and afterwards, when
your success is proclaimed by the public
voice, these mistrustful men will be ready
enough to open their doors to my own
Nina."

Accordingly, it was not long before a lesser
monarch of the stage paid a business visit to
the disengaged young lady; approved her
speech as well as her action, her delineation
of passion, and her majestic method of crossing
the room. Finally, in offering her the
leading part at his theatre during the ensuing
month, he promised to respect the secret of
her name until an enthusiastic public would
be denied the revelation no longer.

"And now that you have made your
business arrangements with my future
proprietor," said Nina, with laughing eyes and
radiant countenance, as her brother returned
from an interview with their visitor, "do
pray, dear brother, tell me how much I may
be worth per week."

"Well, love," replied Cecil, with hesitation,
"considering that you are entirely unknown
and quite inexperienced; that you have not
the great theatrical lineage which some
possess to give an interest to your débût;
that (I am only quoting the manager's
words, you know) you have no decidedly
original readings of any well-known—"

"Am I worth nothing?" interrupted the
girl, passionately. "What does all this tend
to? Was the man lying to my face ten
minutes ago?"

"No, Nina, no," stammered her brother;
"but the offer seemed so small, so insignificant,
that I scarcely liked to come to it.
Fifteen pounds a-week. It would be
positively distressing, were it not so ridiculous;
but Siddonses, O'Neills, and Nina Hothams
must begin, you see, even upon a trifle."

She tossed her head and pouted a little at
this intelligence; but presently left the room
to pursue her studies, in her natural high
spirits. Cecil stood looking at the door
through which she had departed, with loving
but melancholy eyes. He had schooled the
manager in the part he was to play with
Nina before he saw her, and his subsequent
business arrangements with that gentleman
had been different indeed from that which he
had represented them.

"I think I was right," he mused; "I
trust I was right. To have told her the
miserable truth—that I have had to pay
fifteen pounds a-week for the privilege of her
being permitted to act—would have gone
well nigh to kill her. After next month,
too, all these things will be changed. Such
beauty, such grace, such genius, cannot
remain long unappreciated by any who have
eyes and ears."