A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. I am rehearsing now for a new play at the ‘Garrick’ and I have quite made up my mind to try and make some sort of position for myself as an actress. ” “Just as you wish,” Mr. ” “All the more reason why she shouldn’t get herself talked about.
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