Miss Bretherton

ACTHOHOF "ROBERT ELSMEBB." f boMTISUED ] doubtful busi.:nr, thal. her ac-üug is as good as anybody s, a ad that lier special raission i to regenérate tho manners of the stage. To have the naked, artistic view thrust upon her - that it is the artresa' business to act, and thnt i f she does that well, whatever raay be her persoual shorteomings, her geueration has cause to be grateful to her - must be repugiiant to her. She, too, talks about art, but it is like a child who learns a string of long words without understandiug them. She walked on beside me while I cooled down and thought what a fooi I had been to endanger a frieudsbip which had opened so well- her wonderful lips opening once or twice as though to speak, and her quick breath coming and going as she scattered the yellow petals of the flowers far and wide with asort of mute passion which sent a thrill through me. It was as though she could not trust herself to speak, and I waited awkwardly on ProTidence, wishing the others were not so far off. But suddenly the tensión of her mood seemed to give way. Her smile üashed out, and she turned apon me with a sweet, eager graciousness, quite indescribable. " 'Ño, we won't throw stones at her! She Is great, I know, but that other feeling is so trong ia me. I care for my art; it seems to me grand, magnlflcentl- but I think I care still more for making people feel it is work a good woman can do, for holding my own in it, and asserting myself agalnst the people who behave as if all actresses had done the things that Mme. Desforets has done. Don't think me narrow and jealous. I should bate you and the Stuarts to think that of me. You have all been so kind to me- such good, real friendsl I shall never forget this day. Oh! look, there is the carriage standing up there. I wish it was the morning and not the eveninc, and that it might all come again [ I hate the thought of London and that hot theatre to-morrow night. Oh, my primroses! What a wretch I am 1 I' ve lost them nearly all Look, just that bunch over there, Mr. Kendal, before we leave the common.' "I sprung to get them for her, and brought back a quantity. She took them in her hand how unlike other women she is, after all, in spite of her hatredof Bohemia! - and, raising them to her lips, she waved a farewell through them to the great common lying behind us in the evening sun. 'How beautifull how beautiful! This English country is so kind, so f riendly ! It haa gone to my heart. Good night, you wonderful placel' "She had eonquered me altogether. It was done so warmly, with such a winning, spontaneous charm. I can not say what pleasure I got out of those primroses lying in her soft, ungloved hand all the way home. Heneeforward, I feel she may make what judgments and draw what lines she picases, she won't rimnge me, and I have some hopes of modifvinz lier, but 1 am not very likely to feel nnoyftnee tovvards lior again. She is like some (rank, bwintiful, high spirited child playin; a ynine ie only half understauds. I v.i-ii shi1 nuderstood it bettor. 1 should like to lieli bei' to understaud it, but I won't quanvl vvith her, even in my thoughts, aiiy more. "On looking oer Ibis letter it seems to me that if you wcré not you, and I were not I, you might with some plausibility accuse me of being - what?- iu love with Miss Bretherton! But you know me too well. You know I am oue of the old faahioned people who believe in eommunity of interest - in belonging to the same world. When I come coolly to think about it, I can hardly imagine two worlds, whether outwardly or inwardly, more wide apart than mine and Miss Bretherton's." CHAPTER V. During the three weeks which elapsed between the two expeditions of the "Sunday League" Kendal saw Miss Bretherton two or three time3 under varying circumstances. One night he took it ioto his head to go to the pitjOf the Calliope, and came away more persuaded than before that as an actress there was small prospect for her. Had she been an ordinary mortal, he thought, the original stuff In her might have been disciplined iuto sometbing really valuable by the common givé and take, the normal rubs and difficulties of her profession. But as it was she had been lifted at once by the f orce of one natural endowment into a position which, from the artistio point of view, seemed to him hopeless. Her instantaneous success - dependent as it was on considerations wholly outside those of dramatic art - had denied her all the advantages which are to be won from struggle and from laborious and gradual conquest. And more than this, it had depri ved her of an ideal; it had tended to make her take her own performance as the measure of the good and possible. For, naturally, it was too much to expect that she herself should analyze truly the sources and reasons of her popularity. She mustinevitably believe that some, at least, of it was due to her dramatic talent in itself. "It is very possible that I am not quite fair to her. She has all the faults which repel me most. I could get over anything but this impression of bare blank ignoranca which aha makes upon me. And as things are at present, it is imposible that she should learn. It might be interesting to have the teaching of her! But it could only be done by some one with whom she came naturally into frequent contact. Nobody could thrust himself in upon her. And she seems to know very few people who could be of any use to her." On another occasion he came across her in the afternoon at Mrs. Stuart's. The eonver■atlon turned upon his sister, Mme. de Chateauvieux, for whom Mrs. Stuart had a warm but very respectful admiration. Tuey had met two or three times in London, am! Mme. de Chateauvieux's personal distinction. her reflnetneut, her information, her sweet urbanity of manner, had made a great im Dr:on upon the lively little woman, who, f rom ïbe KWer level or ner own more commonplace and con vent ional success in society, feit an twe struck sympathy for anything so rare, so onlike the ordinary type. Her intimacy with Miss Bretherton had not gone far before th object of "Mr. Kendal's interesting sister" had been introduced, and en this particular afternoon, as Kendal entered her drawing room, his ear was caught at once by the sound of Marie' name. Miss Bretherton drew him impuMvely into the conversation, and he fonnd himsatf describing his sister's mode of life, her interests, her world, her belongings, with a readioess such as he was not very apt to show in tb public discussion of any subject connected with himself. But Isabel Bretherton's frank curiosity, her kindling eyes and sweet partaá lips, and that straiu of romance in her whieh made her so quickly responsive to acything which touched her imagination, wer not easy to resist. She was delightful to his eye and tense, and he vraa as couscious as be had ever been of her delicate personal charm. Besides, it was .leasant to him to talk of that Parisian world, in whicb he was hiniseif vitally iutcroii-ii, to any oue so naive and fresh. Her [gnoreace, whiob oo the stagthadanuoyed Lnu. i'i private lif Uad its tleular attractiveness. And, wïth regard to ;his special subject, he was eonsetous of ireaking down a prejudice; he feit the leasure of conquering a great reluctancc in ïer. Evidently on starting in London she ïad set berseli agaiust everything Uiat she dentifled with the great Frenen actress who ïad absorbed the theatre going public during ;he previous season ; not from personal jealousy, as Kendal becaroe ultiniately convteced. but from ense of keen moral reTolt against Mme. Desforota' notorious ion and the stories of her private life which were corrent in al) circles. Sbe had decided n her own mind that French art meant a intedart. andsbe.had shown herself very restive- Kendal had seen something of it on ;beir Surrey expedition- nndcr any attempttt make her share the interest which certain sections of the English eultivated public feel n foreign thought, and especially in the !oreign theatre. Kendal took particular pains, when they glided off from the topic of Us sister to more general matters, to make her realize some of the flner aspects of the FreDCh world, of which she knew so little and which she judged so harshly; the laborious technical training to which the dwellers on the other side of the channel submit themselves so much more readily than the English in any matter of art; the intellectaal conscientiousness and refinement due to the pressure of an örganized and coutinuous tradition, and so on. He realized that a good deal of what he said or suggested must naturally be lost upon her. Buc it was delightful to feel her mind yieldicg to his, while it stimulated her sympathy and perhaps roused her surprise to flnd in him, every now and then, a grave and unpretending response to those moral enthusiaung in herself which were too real and deep for much direct expression. "Whenever I am next in Paris," she said to him, when she perforce rose to go with that pretty hesitation of manner which was so attractive in her, "would you mind- would Mme. de Chateauvieux - if I asked you to introduce me to your sister? It would be a great pleasure to me." Kendal made a very cordial reply, and they parted knowing more of each other tban they had yet done. Not that his leading impression of her was in any way modified. Incompetent and unpromising as an artist, delightful as a woman, had been his earliest' verdict upon her, and his conviction of its reasonableness had been only deepened bysubsequent experience; but perhaps tha sense of delightfulness was gaining upon the sense of incompetencel Af ter all, beauty and chann and sex have in all ages been too much for the clever people who try to reckon without them. Kendal was far too shrewd not to recognize the very natural and reasonable character of the proceeding and not to smile at the flrst sign of it in his own person. Still, he meant to try, if he could, to keep the two estima tes dist i net, and neither to confuse himself nor other people by confounding them. It seemed to him an intellectual point of honor to keep his head perfectly cool on the subject of Miss Bretherton's artistio claims, but he was eonscious that it was not always very easy to do- a consciousness that made him sometimes all the more recalcitrant under the pressure of her celebrity. For it seemed to him that in society ho heard of nothing but her- her beauty, her fascination and ber success. At every dinner table he heard stories of her, some of them evident inventions, but all tanding in the same direction - that is to say, illustrating eitber the girl's proud independenoe and her determination to be patronized bynobody, not even by royalty itself , or her lavish kindheartedness and generoslty towards the poor and the inferior of her own profession. She was tor me moment tne great mierest ot London, and people talked of her popularity and social prestige as a sign of the times and a proof of the changed positton of the theatre and of those belongtng to it. Kendal thought it proved no more than that an extremely beautiful girl of irreproachable character, brought prominently before the public in any capacity whatever, is sure to stir the susceptible English heart, and that Isabel Bretherton's popularity was not one which would in the long run affect the stage at all. But he kept his reflections to himself, and in general talked about her no more than he was torced to do. He had a sort of chivalrous feeling that those whom the girl had made in any degree her personal friends ought, as far as possible, to stand between her and this inquisitive, excited public. And it was plain to him that the enormous social success was not of her seeking, but of her relations. One afternoon, betweeu 6 and 7, Kendal was working alone in his room with the unusual prospect of a clear evening before him. He had Qnished a piece of writing and was standing before the flre deep in thought over the first paragraphs of his next chapter when he heard a knock; the door opened and Wallace stood on the threshold. "May I come in? It'sasbameto disturb you, but Tve really got something important to talk to you abcut. I want vour advk-e badly." "Oh, come in, by all nieans. Here's souie cold tea. Will you have some, or tril] jou stay and dincf I must dir.e early to-night for my work. I'll ring and teil Mason." "No, don't; I can't stay. I must be in Kenslngton at 8." He tlirew hiinseli into Kendal's deep reading chair, and looked up at bis friend, standing silent and erpectant on the heartn rug. "Do you remember that play of mine I showed you in the spring?" Kendal took time to think. "Perfectly. You mean that play by that young Italian fellow which you altered and translated? I remember it quite well. I have meant to ask vou about it once or twic lately." "You thought well of it, I know. Wel!, my sister has got me into the most uncomfortable bobble about it. You know I badn't taken it to any manager. I've been keeping it by me, working it up here and there. I am in no want of money just now, and I had set my heart on the tbiug's beüug really 'good- well written and v?9 aclcd. Well, Ajnos, in a rash moment two or three ilavs asa, and without consulting me. tolii Miss Uretherton the whole story of the piav, and said that sbe supposed I should soon want sonieboüy to bring it out for me. Miss Brethtu ton was nonnously sti'uc'; witü ihe plot, as Agnes told it to her, and the next timo I saw her she insisted that 1 bluml.J read some scènes from it to her"- - "Good heavensl and now sbe bas offered to produce it and play the principal part in it herself ," interrupted Kenlal. Wallace nodded. "Just so. you seo, my relations with her are so fritndly that it was imoossibia for me to say no. But 1 never was in n greater flx. She waï enthusiastie. She walked up and down the room after I'd done roading, repeaxing some of the passages, going through some of the situations, and wound up by saying, 'Give it me, Mr. Wallaeel It shall be ths flrst thing I bring out in my October season - if you will let me have it.1 Well, of couHe. I suppose most people would jump at suoh an offer. Her popularitv just now is something extraordinary, and I see no signs of ita lessening. Any piece she plays in ia bound to be a success, and I suppose I should make a good deal of money out of it; but then, you see, I don't want the money, and" "Yes, yes, I see," said Kendal, thought fully, "yoa don'ii want the money, and you foei that she will ruin the play. It's a great bore certainly." "Well, you know, how could she help ruining iti She oouldn't play the part of Elvira - you remember the plot? - even decently. It's an extremely difflcult part. Ie would be uperb - I think so, at least - in tbe hands of an actress who really understood her business; but Miss Bretherton will make it one long stagey soream, without any modulation, any shades, any delicacy. It drives one wild to think of it. And yet how, in the name of fortune, am I to get out of iti" "You had thought," said Kendal, "I remember. of Mts. Pearson for the heroine." "Yes; I should have tried her. She is not flrst rate, but at least she is intelligent; she understands something of what you want in a part like that. But for poor Isabel Bretherton, and those about her, the great points in the play will be that she will have long speeches and be able to wear 'medieeval dressesl I don't suppose she ever heard of Aragón in her life. Just imagine her playing a high bom Spanish woman of the Fifteentb centuryl Can't you see her!" V'Well, after all," said Kendal, with a little laugh, "I should see what the public goes for mostly- thaï is io say, Isabel Bretherton in effective costume. No, it would be a great faüure- not a failure, of course, in the ordinary Eense. Her beauty, in tho medinval get up, and the romantic plot of tbe piece would carry it through, and, as you say, you would probably make a great deal by it. But, artistically, it would be a ghastly failure. And Hawesl Hawes, I snppose, would play Maclas? Godd heavensl" "Yes," said Wallace, leaning his head on his hands and looking gloomily out of the window at the spire of St. Bride's church. 'Pleaaant, isii't iti But what on eartb am I to dof I ne ver was in a greater I'ra not tbe least in love with that girl, Eendal, but thera isn't anything she'd ask me to do for her that I wouldn't do if I could. She's the warmest hearted creature - one of the kindest, frankest. sincerest women that ever stepped. I feel at times that I'd rather cut my hand off than hurt her f eelings by throwing her offer in her face, and yet that play has been the apple of my eye to me for montbs; the thought of seeing it spoiled by clumsy handling is intolerable to me." "I suppose it would hurt her feelings," said Kendal, ineditatively, "if you refused." "Yes," said Wallace, cmphatically, "I believe it would wound hev extremely. You see, in splte f all her success, she is beginning to be conscious that tbere are two publics in London. There is the smal!, fastidious public of people who take the theatra seriouslv, and there is the large, i easy going public who get the only sensation I they want out of her beauty and her per! sonal prestige. The enthusiasts have no difflculty, as vet, in holding their own against the scoffers, and for a long time Miss Bretherton knevv and cared nothing for what the critica! people said, but of late I have noticed nt times that she knows more and cares more than she did. It seems to me that there is a little growiug soreness ia her mimi, and just now if 1 refuse to let her have that play it will destroy her conüdence in her friends, as it were. She won't reproach me, sho wou't quarrel with me, but it will go to her heart. Do, for heaven's sake, Kendal, help me to some plausible fiction or other!" "I wish I could," said Kendal, pacinp; up and down, his gray hair falling forward over hia brow. There was a pause, and then Kendal walked energetically up to his friend and laid his hand on his ehoulder. "You oughtn't to let her have that play, Wallace; I'm quite clear on that. You know how mucb I like her. She's all you say, and more ; but art is art, and acting is acting. I, at aiiy iate, take these thiugs seriously, and y ou do, too. We rejoice in it for her sake; but, af ter all, when one comes to think of it, this popularity of hers Is enough to rnake ouo despair. Sometimes I think it will throw back the popular dramatic taste for years. At auy rate, I am clear tbat i f a man has got hold of a fine work of art, as yon hare in that play, he bas a duty to it and to the public. You are bound to see it brought out iinder the best possible condit ions, and we all know that Miss Bretherton's acting, capped with Hawes', would kill it from the artistio point of view." "Perfectly true, perfectly true," said Wallace. "Well, would you have me teil her sof " You must get out of it somehow. Teil her that the part is ons you feel won't suit her - wori't do her justiee." "Muchgood that would do! Shethinksthe part just made for her, costumes and alL" "Well, then, say you haven't finished your revisión, and you must have time for more work at it ; that will postpone the thing, and she will hear of something else which will put it out of her head. " "There are all sorts of reasons against that," said Wallace; "it's hardly worth while going through them. In the flrst place, she wonldn't believe me; in the second, she won't forget it, whatever happens, and it would only put the difficulty oLf a few weeks at most. I feel sa stupid about the whole thing. I like her too muela. I'ra so afraid of saying anything to hurt lier, that I can't finesse. All ray wits desert me. Í say, Ken dal I'' "Welli" Wallace hesitated, and glanced up at nis f riend with his most winning expression. [ TO BE OQNTINUKD. I