The Argosy — page 398: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A Dramatic Critique, and what Came of It. 375 impertinence to succeed where they have failed—and I believe Mr, Dane failed conspicuously as a dramatist some years ago.” Edith frowned. “I wonder what he has done to offend you?” she said, coldly. ‘*T notice you seldom mention his name without a sneer. I thought he was your friend.” ‘So he was—till he became my rival,” was the quick reply. She crimsoned under her veil to the roots of her fair hair, and gave him a look which might have annihilated him. “You know it is so,” he persisted. ‘‘ You know that I would die for you, and that he ———” “That is enough,” she interrupted, hurrying on. ‘I will say good-bye now, Mr. Procter.” ‘“‘ Nay, do not leave me in that way,” he pleaded. ‘‘ Do you dis- like me so much that you cannot endure my presence?” ‘I dislike your conversation this morning,” she answered quietly. He drew in his lips, and gave her a curious look. ‘J did not mean to offend you. Pray forgive me. Let me be your friend, at least, if nothing more.” After a moment’s hesitation she put out her hand. ‘‘ My friend, if you will, but nothing more,” she echoed. “T understand. I will try not to offend again. Good-bye. I hope both the audience and the critics will be in a genial mood to- night. By the way ”—he turned back as if struck by a sudden thought—‘“‘ If you particularly wish to know the name of Mr. Dane’s paper—it is Zhe Planet. But pray don’t let him know that I told you.” “‘T will not say a word,” she promised. “"Thank you.” And she gave him a friendly nod and smile as she went her way. The home which she shared with her brother and widowed mother was a small but daintily appointed house in the artistic region of South Kensington. ‘There was nothing in the least Bohemian about Miss Sylvester or her surroundings, for the young actress was a lady by birth and education, and on her father’s death, followed by the wreck of their fortune, she had adopted her present profession. How brilliantly she had succeeded all the world knew, though few were aware by what courageous effort and dauntless perseverance her success had been won. ‘Where is Claud, mother?” she asked, entering the pleasant little morning-room where Mrs. Sylvester was sitting. The latter, a delicate, refined, and still beautiful woman, with a gentle manner and a gracious smile, looked up from the book she was reading. ; “He is lying down, dear. He brought a headache from the theatre as usual. Poor boy—it is a trying time for him !” Edith stood at the window, turning her gloves in her hand, and COMMICOOOKS.€O