comfort. Of course a femme de théatre is supposed to be able to go out alone, but there's a kind of appearance, an added chic, in having some one. People think he's my companion; I'm sure they fancy I pay him. I would pay him rather than give him up, for it doesn't matter that he's not a lady. He is one in tact and sympathy, as you see. And base as he thinks the sort of thing I do, he can't keep away from the theatre. When you're celebrated, people will look at you who before could never find out for themselves why they should."
"When you're celebrated you become handsomer; at least that's what has happened to you, though you were pretty too of old," Gabriel argued. "I go to the theatre to look at your head; it gives me the greatest pleasure. I take up anything of that sort as soon as I find it; one never knows how long it may last."
"Are you speaking of my appearance?" Miriam asked.
"Dear no, of my own pleasure, the first freshness," Nash went on. "Dormer at least, let me tell you in justice to him, hasn't waited till you were celebrated to want to see you again (he stands there open-eyed); for the simple reason that he hadn't the least idea of your renown. I had to announce it to him."
"Haven't you seen me act?" Miriam asked, without reproach, of her host.
"I'll go to-night," said Nick.
"You have your Parliament, haven't you? What do they call it—the demands of public life?" Miriam continued: to which Gabriel Nash rejoined that he had the demands of private as well, inasmuch as he was in love—he was on the
