ghastly failure. And Hawes! Hawes, I suppose, would play Macias? Good
heavens!'

'Yes,' said Wallace, leaning his head on his hands and looking gloomily
out of window at the spire of St. Bride's Church. 'Pleasant, isn't it?
But what on earth am I to do? I never was in a greater hole. I'm not the
least in love with that girl, Kendal, but there isn't anything she asked
me to do for her that I wouldn't do if I could. She's the warmest-hearted
creature--one of the kindest, frankest, sincerest women that ever
stepped. I feel at times that I'd rather cut my hand off than hurt her
feelings by throwing her offer in her face, and yet, that play has been
the apple of my eye to me for months; the thought of seeing it spoilt by
clumsy handling is intolerable to me.'

'I suppose it would hurt her feelings,' said Kendal meditatively, 'if you
refused?'

'Yes,' said Wallace emphatically; 'I believe it would wound her
extremely. You see, in spite of all her success, she is beginning to be
conscious that there are two publics in London. There is the small
fastidious public of people who take the theatre seriously, and there is
the large easy-going public who get the only sensation they want out of
her beauty and her personal prestige. The enthusiasts have no difficulty,
as yet, in holding their own against the scoffers, and for a long time
Miss Bretherton knew and cared nothing for what the critical people said,
but of late I have noticed at times that she knows more and cares more
than she did. It seems to me that there is a little growing soreness in
her mind, and just now if I refuse to let her have that play it will
destroy her confidence in her friends, as it were. She won't reproach me,
she won't quarrel with me, but it will go to her heart. Do, for heaven's