“I’ll tell you what it is, Sharp, that girl is going to make a capital character actress.  When her parts suit, she forgets herself entirely and does admirably well.  Her Miggs was nearly the death of me to-night.  She’s got that one gift, and it’s a good one.  You ’d better give her a chance, for I think she’ll be a credit to the old concern.”

Kent said that,—­Christie heard it, and flew to Lucy, waving Miggs’s cap for joy as she told the news.

“What did Mr. Sharp say?” asked Lucy, turning round with her face half “made up.”

“He merely said ‘Hum,’ and smiled.  Wasn’t that a good sign?” said Christie, anxiously.

“Can’t say,” and Lucy touched up her eyebrows as if she took no interest in the affair.

Christie’s face fell, and her heart sunk at the thought of failure; but she kept up her spirits by working harder than ever, and soon had her reward.  Mr. Sharp’s “Hum” did mean yes, and the next season she was regularly engaged, with a salary of thirty dollars a week.

It was a grand step, and knowing that she owed it to Kent, Christie did her utmost to show that she deserved his good opinion.  New trials and temptations beset her now, but hard work and an innocent nature kept her safe and busy.  Obstacles only spurred her on to redoubled exertion, and whether she did well or ill, was praised or blamed, she found a never-failing excitement in her attempts to reach the standard of perfection she had set up for herself.  Kent did not regret his patronage.  Mr. Sharp was satisfied with the success of the experiment, and Christie soon became a favorite in a small way, because behind the actress the public always saw a woman who never “forgot the modesty of nature.”

But as she grew prosperous in outward things, Christie found herself burdened with a private cross that tried her very much.  Lucy was no longer her friend; something had come between them, and a steadily increasing coldness took the place of the confidence and affection which had once existed.  Lucy was jealous for Christie had passed her in the race.  She knew she could not fill the place Christie had gained by favor, and now held by her own exertions, still she was bitterly envious, though ashamed to own it.

Christie tried to be just and gentle, to prove her gratitude to her first friend, and to show that her heart was unchanged.  But she failed to win Lucy back and felt herself injured by such unjust resentment.  Mrs. Black took her daughter’s part, and though they preserved the peace outwardly the old friendliness was quite gone.

Hoping to forget this trouble in excitement Christie gave herself entirely to her profession, finding in it a satisfaction which for a time consoled her.

But gradually she underwent the sorrowful change which comes to strong natures when they wrong themselves through ignorance or wilfulness.

Pride and native integrity kept her from the worst temptations of such a life, but to the lesser ones she yielded, growing selfish, frivolous, and vain,—­intent on her own advancement, and careless by what means she reached it.  She had no thought now beyond her art, no desire beyond the commendation of those whose opinion was serviceable, no care for any one but herself.