That I had no shape left to me was bad enough; but to be a moving abomination was worse, and of all vile, offensive, and vulgar odours commend me to that of goose grease.  With cheeks wet from tears of sheer weakness, I reached the theatre resolved to keep as silent as the grave on the subject of my flamboyant armour of grease and flannel.  But the first faint muttering of the coming storm reached me even in my dressing-room, when the theatre maid (I had none of my own yet) entered, and frowningly snapped out:  “I’d like to know what’s the matter with this room?  It never smelled like this before.  Just as soon as you go out, Miss Morris, I’ll hunt it over and see what the trouble is.”

I had been pale, but at that speech one might have lighted matches at my scarlet face.  While in the entrance I had to be wrapped up in a great big shawl, through which the odour could not quite penetrate, so no one suspected me when making kindly inquiries about my health; but when it was thrown off, and in my thin white gown I went on the stage—­oh!

In the charming little love scene, as Henri and I sat close, oh, very close together, on the garden seat, and I had to look up at him with wide-eyed admiration, I saw him turn his face aside, wrinkling up his nose, and heard him whisper:  “What an infernal smell!  What is it?”

I shook my head in seeming ignorance and wondered what was ahead—­if this was the beginning.  It was a harrowing experience; by the time the second act was on, the whole company was aroused.  They were like an angry swarm of bees.  Miss Dietz kept her handkerchief openly to her pretty nose; Miss Morant, in stately dudgeon, demanded that Mr. Daly should be sent for, that he might learn the condition of his theatre, and the dangers his people were subjected to in breathing such poisoned air; while right in the very middle of our best scene, Mr. Louis James, the incorrigible, stopped to whisper, “Can’t we move further over and get out of this confounded stench?”

In that act I had to spend much of my time at the piano, with the result that when the curtain fell, the people excitedly declared that awful smell was worst right there, and I had the misery of seeing the prompter carefully looking into the piano and applying his long, sharp nose to its upright interior.

There had been a moment in that act when I thought James Lewis suspected me.  I had just taken my seat opposite him at the chess table, when he gave a little jerk at his chair, exclaiming under his breath, “Blast that smell—­there it is again!”

[Illustration:  Mrs. Gilbert, Augustin Daly, James Lewis, Louis James]

I remained silent, and there I was wrong; for Lewis, knowing me well, knew my habit of extravagant speech, and instantly his blue pop eyes were upon my miserable face, with suspicion sticking straight out of them.  With trembling hand I made my move at chess, saying, “Queen to Queens rook four,” and he added in aside, “Seems to me you’re mighty quiet about this scent; I hope you ain’t going to tell me you can’t smell it?”