Pride and native integrity kept her from the worst temptations of
such a life, but to the lesser ones she yielded, growing selfish,
frivolous, and vain,--intent on her own advancement, and careless by
what means she reached it. She had no thought now beyond her art, no
desire beyond the commendation of those whose opinion was
serviceable, no care for any one but herself.

Her love of admiration grew by what it fed on, till the sound of
applause became the sweetest music to her ear. She rose with this
hope, lay down with this satisfaction, and month after month passed
in this feverish life, with no wish to change it, but a growing
appetite for its unsatisfactory delights, an ever-increasing
forgetfulness of any higher aspiration than dramatic fame.

"Give me joy, Lucy, I'm to have a benefit next week! Everybody else
has had one, and I've played for them all, so no one seemed to
begrudge me my turn when dear old Kent proposed it," said Christie,
coming in one night still flushed and excited with the good news.

"What shall you have?" asked Lucy, trying to look pleased, and
failing decidedly.

"'Masks and Faces.' I've always wanted to play Peg. and it has good
parts for you and Kent, and St. George I chose it for that reason,
for I shall need all the help I can get to pull me through, I dare
say."

The smile vanished entirely at this speech, and Christie was
suddenly seized with a suspicion that Lucy was not only jealous of