“Why, yes, Kate, that’s the way it got over to me.  We all know David Cairns is selling everything he writes at a top-figure; that he is eminently successful, quite the thing in many periodicals, finely pleased with himself as a successful man——­”

“Wordling,” said Kate Wilkes, leaning toward her, “what kind of people do you associate with in your work?”

“The best, dear,—­always the best.  People who think, and who love their work.”

Slowly and without passion the elder woman now delivered herself: 

“People who think they think and who love themselves!...  I have tried to make myself believe you were different.  You are not different, Wordling.  You are true to your kind, and not distinguished from them.  David Cairns never rehearsed a part with Andrew Bedient.  Men as full of real things as these two do not need rehearsals.  Bedient came up from his Island, and all unconsciously made his old companion realize that he was not breathing the breath of life here in New York.  Cairns wept over it, and made up his mind to try again; and fine chap that he is, he called a few of his friends together, to give us a chance to see the thing as he saw it.  I call it an honor that he invited me.  I see you do not.  Unfortunately this is one of those differences of opinion which are at the base of things....  Luck to you, Wordling,” she finished, rising.  “I feel seedy and have a busy afternoon ahead.”

Mrs. Wordling laughed delightedly, though boiling lava ran within and pressed against the craters.  Alone, she asked herself what Kate Wilkes had done to get away with eccentricities, to which only those of stardom are entitled.

“Hag,” she muttered, after such conning.

* * * * *

Bedient was early abroad in the city, having felt entirely above the need of sleep.  He was less serene than usual, but with compensations.  There was a peculiar fear in his mind that New York was laughing at him a bit.  Perhaps, Cairns had pressed down a little too hard on the queer unhurt quality he was alleged to possess.  In a word, Bedient sensed the humor of Mrs. Wordling, and could not yet know that she, of the entire company, monopolized the taint.

The Smilax Club pleased him, and he had permitted Cairns to put him up there.

That flame of a woman, Beth Truba, was the spirit of his every thought.  Her listening had drawn the soul from him.  The great thing had happened; and yet it was different from the way he had visioned it....  Never had a woman so startled him with the sense of the world’s fullness—­in that she was in the world.  That he had found her was his first achievement, true reward of deathless faith; and yet it was all so different.  She was different.  She had not known him.