thirsting for a woman's sympathy. But the little girl was thinking of
certain effects which she would have made, and which the actress who had
played the adventuress had failed to make.

'I watched her all the time,' she said, 'following every line, saying all
the time, "Oh yes, that's all very nice and very proper, my young woman;
but it's not it; no, not at all--not within a hundred miles of it." I don't
think she ever really touched the part--do you?' Hubert did not answer, and
a quiver of distraction ran through the muscles of her face.

'Why don't you answer me?'

'I can't answer you,' he said abruptly. Then remembering, he added,
'Forgive me; I can think of nothing now.' He hid his face in his hands, and
sobbed twice--two heavy, choking sobs, pregnant with the weight of anguish
lying on his heart.

Seeing how much he suffered, she laid her hand on his shoulder. 'I am very
sorry; I wish I could help you. I know how it tears the heart when one
cannot get out what one has in one's brain.'

Her artistic appreciation of his suffering only jarred him the more. What
he longed for was some kind, simple-hearted woman who would say, 'Never
mind, dear; the play was perfectly right, only they did not understand it;
I love you better than ever.' But Rose could not give him the sympathy he
wanted; and to be alone was almost a relief. He dared not go to bed; he sat
looking into space. The roar of London hushed till it was no more than a
faint murmur, the hissing of the gas grew louder, and still Hubert sat
thinking, the same thoughts battling in his brain. He looked into the
future, but could see nothing but suicide. His uncle? He had applied to him