After that, ambition revived and worked smoothly, rapidly. In the
middle of the second act, however, the play failed--that is to say,
the play in which Miss Colgate was appearing on Broadway. (It failed
in the middle of Mr. Flanders' second act, lest I appear ambiguous.)
The young actress found herself out of employment and without much
prospect of getting an engagement at that season of the year--a bad
year it was, too, if you will remember what theatrical people had to
say about it. Now, she was not obliged to work for a living. She could
have gone back to her family in Connecticut. But she was not made of
that sort of stuff. She could have gone back home and married the most
desirable young or old man in the town. She could have given up the
stage and devoted herself to the teaching of music, French or wood-
carving, in which pursuits she was far less of an amateur than at
play-acting. But she was a valiant, undaunted little warrior. She
announced that she was ready to do anything that offered, even chorus-
work.

And one evening she told him that she had found a place in the chorus
of a "road show." She tried to hide her mortification under a somewhat
quivering jauntiness, but Mr. Flanders went rudely to the bottom of
the matter. She argued that she could change her name and no one would
be the wiser. She would positively refuse to appear in tights. Then
came the episode. Mr. Flanders flew into a scornful rage. He said a
great many things that he was afterwards ashamed to recall. Among
other things, he said he'd be hanged if he'd marry a chorus-girl; as
for tights, she wouldn't have any choice in the matter, once the
manager set his mind to it. She had not been in love with him long
enough to submit to bullying, so she sent him about his business.
Moreover, she coldly informed him that their engagement was over and
that she never wanted to see his face again.