"And you won't, Dido?" he said, pleadingly.
"I don't see why not, Mr. Treadwell."
Dick started unpleasantly. He had not before noticed that she never called him by any name when addressing him, and now it seemed to suggest that there was a difference between them, and he vainly wondered what it was.
"I should be very sorry, Dido, to see you go on the stage. In the first place you don't know anything about acting, and it would take you years before you could hope to attain any position."
"I feel that I can act," she said deeply. "My nerves seem so tight that I long to get up and act some life. I want to act love, and then hate, and then murder."
"Why, Dido?" Dick asked, coolly and curiously, although he felt the deep emotion underlying her words. He recalled what an
