New Faces | Page 7

Conners--that's the girl's name--seems to be exceptional even amongst
them."
"Too good for us, eh?" asked the actor.
"Entirely too good," answered Burgess steadily.
"And do you feel justified in deciding her future for her! In
condemning her to an obscure life in the slums instead of a successful
career on the stage?"
"I do not," answered Burgess, "she must decide that for herself. I'll ask
her and let you know."
To this end he sought Miss Masters. "I want you," said he, "to ask
Mary Conners to tea with you to-morrow afternoon. It will be Sunday
so she can manage. And then I want you to leave us alone. I have
something very serious to say to her."
Margaret looked at him and laughed. "Then you were right," said she,
"and I was wrong; I had found a wife for you."
"For absolute inane, insensate romanticism," said he, "I recommend
you to the recently engaged. You used to have some sense. You were
clever enough to refuse me and now you go and forever ruin my
opinion of you by making a remark like that."
"It is not romanticism at all," she maintained. "It is the best of common
sense. You will never be satisfied with anyone you haven't trained and
formed to suit your own ideals. And you will never find such a 'quick
study' as Mary."

It was the earliest peep of spring and Burgess stopped on his way to
Miss Masters' house and bought a sheaf of white hyacinths and pale
maiden hair for the little Lady Hyacinth who was waiting for him.
As soon as he was alone with her he managed to distract her attention
from her flowers and to make her listen to Marsden's message. He set
the case before her plainly. Without exaggeration and without
extenuation.
"And we don't expect you," he ended, "to make up your mind at once.
You must consult your relatives and friends."
"I have no relatives," she answered.
"Your friends then."
"I don't think I have many. Some of the girls in the club perhaps. The
old book-keeper in the store where I work, perhaps Miss Masters."
"And you have me," he interrupted. But she smiled at him and shook
her head. "You were real kind about the play," said she, "but the play's
all over now. I guess you'd better tell your friend that I'll take the
position. I have been getting pretty tired of work in the store and I'd
like to try this if he don't mind."
"Oh, but you mustn't go into it like that," Burgess protested, "just for
the want of something better. Acting is an art--a great art--you must be
glad and proud."
"I'll try it," she said without enthusiasm. "If you feel that way about it
I'll try it. It can't be worse than the store. The store is just horrible. Oh!
Mr. Burgess you can't think what it is to be Ophelia in the evening with
princes loving you and then to be a cashier in the day-time that any
fresh customer thinks he can get gay with. Maybe if I was an actress I
could be Ophelia oftener. I'd do anything, Mr. Burgess, to get away
from the store."
Burgess did not answer immediately. Her earnestness had rather

overcome her and he waited silently while she walked to the window,
surreptitiously pressed her handkerchief against her eyes and conquered
the sobs that threatened to choke her. Burgess watched her. The
trimness of her figure, the absolute neatness and propriety of her dress,
the poise and restraint of her manner. Then she turned and he rose to
meet her.
"Mary," said he, "you never in all the time I've known you have failed
to do what I asked you. Will you do something for me now?"
"Yes, sir," she answered simply.
"Then sit down in that chair and take this watch of mine in your hand
and don't say one single, solitary, lonely word for five minutes. No
matter what happens: no matter what anyone says or does. Will you
promise?"
"Yes, sir," she answered again.
"Well then," he began, "I know another man who wants you--this stage
idea is not the only way out of the store. Remember you're not to
speak--this other man wants to marry you."
A scarlet flush sprang to Mary's face and slowly ebbed away again
leaving her deadly pale. She kept her word in letter but hardly in spirit
for she looked at him through tear-filled eyes, and shook her head.
"Of course you can't be expected to take to the idea just at first," said he,
as if she had spoken, "but I want you to think it over. The man is a
well-off, gentlemanly sort of chap. Miles too old for you of