That Shout, like the hoa.r.s.e Peals of Vultures rings, When, over fighting Fields they beat their wings."_

"And how should I read them, dear master?" she asked demurely of her vainglorious preceptor.

"Like I read them, in sooth," replied he, well convinced that his reading could not be bettered.

"Like you read them, in sooth," replied Nell, meekly. She took the floor and repeated the lines with the precise action and trick of voice which Hart had used. Every "r" was well trilled; "gaping" was p.r.o.nounced with an anaconda-look, as though she were about to swallow the theatre, audience and all; and, as she spoke the line, "When, over fighting Fields they beat their wings," she raised her arms and shoulders in imitation of some barn-yard fowl vainly essaying flight and swept across the room, the picture of grace in ungracefulness.

"'Tis monstrous!" exclaimed Hart, bitterly, as he realized the travesty.

"You cannot act and never could. I was a fool to engage you."

Nell was back by the vase, toying with the flowers. "London applauds my acting," she suggested, indifferently.

"London applauds the face and figure; not the art," replied Hart.

"London is wise; for the art is in the face and figure, Master Jack. You told me so yourself," she added, sharply, pointing her finger at her adversary in quick condemnation. She turned away triumphant.

"I was a fool like the rest," replied Hart, visibly irritated that he could not get the better of the argument.

"Come, don't be angry," said Nell. Her manner had changed; for her heart had made her fearful lest her tongue had been unkind. "Mayhap Almahyde is the last part Nell will ever play." She looked thoughtfully into the bunch of roses. Did she see a prophecy there?

He approached the table where she stood. "Your head is turned by the flowers," he said, bitterly. "An honest motive, no doubt, prompted the royal gift."

Nell turned sharply upon him. Her lips trembled, but one word only came to them--"Jack!"

Hart's eyes fell under the rebuke; for he knew that only anger prompted what he had said. He would have struck another for the same words.

"Pardon, Nell," he said, softly. "My heart rebukes my tongue. I love you!"

Nell stepped back to the mirror, contemplating herself, bedecked as she was with the flowers. In an instant she forgot all, and replied playfully to Hart's confession of love: "Of course, you do. How could you help it? So do others."

"I love you better than the rest," he added, vehemently, "better than my life." He tried to put his arms about her.

Nell, however, was by him like a flash.

"Not so fast, dear sir," she said, coyly; and she tiptoed across the room and ensconced herself high in the throne-chair.

Hart followed and knelt below her, adoring.

"Admit that I can act--a little--just a little--dear Hart, or tell me no more of love." She spoke with the half-amused, half-indifferent air of a beautiful princess to some servant-suitor; and she was, indeed, most lovable as she leaned back in the great throne-chair. She seemed a queen and the theatre her realm. Her beautiful arms shone white in the flickering candle-light. Her sceptre was a rose which the King of England had given her.

Hart stepped back and looked upon the picture. "By heaven, Nell," he cried, "I spoke in anger. You are the most marvellous actress in the world. Nature, art and genius crown your work."

Nell smiled at his vehemence. "I begin to think that you have taste most excellent," she said.

Hart sprang to her side, filled with hope. As the stage-lover he ne'er spoke in tenderer tones. "Sweet Nell, when I found you in the pit, a ragged orange-girl, I saw the sparkle in your eye, the bright intelligence, the magic genius, which artists love. I claimed you for my art, which is the art of arts--for it embraces all. I had the theatre. I gave it you. You captured the Lane--then London. You captured my soul as well, and held it slave."

"Did I do all that, dear Jack?" she asked, wistfully.

"And more," said Hart, rapturously. "You captured my years to come, my hope, ambition, love--all. All centred in your heart and eyes, sweet Nell, from the hour I first beheld you."

Nell's look was far away. "Is love so beautiful?" she murmured softly.

Her eye fell upon her sceptre-rose. "Yea, I begin to think it is." She mused a moment, until the silence seemed to awaken her. She looked into Hart's eyes again, sadly but firmly, then spoke as with an effort: "You paint the picture well, dear Jack. Paint on." Her hand waved commandingly.

"I could not paint ill with such a model," said he, his voice full of adoration.

"Well said," she replied; "and by my troth, I have relented like you, dear Jack. I admit you too can act--and marvellously well." She took his trembling hand and descended from the throne. He tried once again to embrace her, but she avoided him as before.

"Is't true?" he asked, eagerly, without observing the hidden meaning in her voice.

"'Tis true, indeed--with proper emphasis and proper art and proper intonation." She crossed the room, Hart following her.

"I scarce can live for joy," he breathed.

Nell leaned back upon the table and looked knowingly and deeply into Hart's eyes. Her voice grew very low, but clear and full of meaning.

"In faith," she said, "I trow and sadly speak but true; for I am sad at times--yea--very sad--when I observe, with all my woman's wiles and arts, I cannot act the hypocrite like men."

"What mean you, darling cynic?" asked he, jocosely.

"Darling!" she cried, repeating the word, with a peculiar look. "To tell two girls within the hour you love each to the death would be in me hypocrisy, I admit, beyond my art; but you men can do such things with conscience clear."

Hart turned away his face. "She's found me out," he thought.

"Nell, I never loved the Spanish dancing-girl. You know I love but you."

"Oh, ho!" laughed Nell. "Then why did you tell her so?--to break her heart or mine?"

The manager stood confused. He scarce knew what to say.

"You are cruel, Nell," he pleaded, fretfully. "You never loved me, never."

"Did I ever say I did?"

Hart shook his head sadly.

"Come, don't pout, Jack. An armistice in this, my friend, for you were my friend in the old days when I needed one, and I love you for that."

She placed her hands kindly on the manager's shoulders, then turned and began to arrange anew the gift-flowers in the vase.

"I'll win your life's love, Nell, in spite of you," he said, determinedly.

She turned her honest eyes upon him. "Nay, do not try; believe me, do not try," she said softly.

"Nell, you do not mean--?" His voice faltered.

"You must not love me," she said, firmly; "believe me, you must not."

"I must not love you!" His voice scarcely breathed the words.

"There, there; we are growing sentimental, Jack,--and at our age," she replied. She laughed gaily and started for her tiring-room.