“I’m glad of that.  I used to wish I could be one, I was so fond of the theatre.  They should have consented, it would have given me something to do, and, however hard it is, it couldn’t be worse than this.”  Helen spoke vehemently and an excited flush rose to her white cheeks; then she checked herself and dropped into a chair, saying, hurriedly: 

“Tell about it:  don’t let me think; it’s bad for me.”  Glad to be set to work, and bent on retrieving her first mistake, Christie plunged into her theatrical experiences and talked away in her most lively style.  People usually get eloquent when telling their own stories, and true tales are always the most interesting.  Helen listened at first with a half-absent air, but presently grew more attentive, and when the catastrophe came sat erect, quite absorbed in the interest of this glimpse behind the curtain.

Charmed with her success, Christie branched off right and left, stimulated by questions, led on by suggestive incidents, and generously supplied by memory.  Before she knew it, she was telling her whole history in the most expansive manner, for women soon get sociable together, and Helen’s interest flattered her immensely.  Once she made her laugh at some droll trifle, and as if the unaccustomed sound had startled her, old nurse popped in her head; but seeing nothing amiss retired, wondering what on earth that girl could be doing to cheer up Miss Helen so.

“Tell about your lovers:  you must have had some; actresses always do.  Happy women, they can love as they like!” said Helen, with the inquisitive frankness of an invalid for whom etiquette has ceased to exist.

Remembering in time that this was a forbidden subject, Christie smiled and shook her head.

“I had a few, but one does not tell those secrets, you know.”

Evidently disappointed, and a little displeased at being reminded of her want of good-breeding, Helen got up and began to wander restlessly about the room.  Presently, as if wishing to atone for her impatience, she bade Christie come and see her flowers.  Following her, the new companion found herself in a little world where perpetual summer reigned.  Vines curtained the roof, slender shrubs and trees made leafy walls on either side, flowers bloomed above and below, birds carolled in half-hidden prisons, aquariums and ferneries stood all about, and the soft plash of a little fountain made pleasant music as it rose and fell.

Helen threw herself wearily down on a pile of cushions that lay beside the basin, and beckoning Christie to sit near, said, as she pressed her hands to her hot forehead and looked up with a distressful brightness in the haggard eyes that seemed to have no rest in them: 

“Please sing to me; any humdrum air will do.  I am so tired, and yet I cannot sleep.  If my head would only stop this dreadful thinking and let me forget one hour it would do me so much good.”

“I know the feeling, and I’ll try what Lucy used to do to quiet me.  Put your poor head in my lap, dear, and lie quite still while I cool and comfort it.”