strongly of cynicism.



CHAPTER IX


Painful as had been our introduction to polite society, the
reaction which followed it was scarcely less so. Next day we
stayed indoors until evening, when we ventured out for a
walk with fear and trembling lest the newspapers had already
increased our fame and our mortification. The twilight of a
cloudless autumn day was closing in upon the city, and the
keen, bracing winds which sweep over the American metropolis
from the sea brought the color to our faces. We walked down
Broadway, now quite deserted, in silence, and as we were
passing Wallack's Theatre Rayel stopped suddenly, and stood
for a moment looking into the brightly lighted foyer.
Stepping in, he beckoned me to follow. I immediately saw
what had attracted his eye, for on an easel just inside the
entrance was the portrait of our woman. On a placard below
the picture was the name "Edna Bronson." Our surprise was
mingled with sad regret at seeing it playing a false part to
serve the ends of an unscrupulous manager.

"Perhaps she is here! suddenly exclaimed Rayel.

"That is very unlikely," I answered, "but we shall see."

I bought tickets for the evening's performance and we