"Yes," thought the man, "in far less than five years, you lovely child, you will have learned to play Juliet!"
An old engraving of Mrs. Siddons hung upon the wall, and Sybil stood looking at it. The crown the actress wore well became the high chill beauty of her face.
"Queen of the English-speaking stage," murmured Sybil. "How proud and happy she must have been! what love and homage her fame must have won from her countrymen!" Quickly turning her head, she asked: "Mr. Thrall, when you have become famous, do you forget all the bitterness of past struggles and feel like loving the whole world for very joy and gratitude?"
"Having no experience to guide me, I am unable to answer your question," was the somewhat curt reply.
"Unable?" repeated the girl, all her respectful admiration writ large upon her face. "You mean——"
"I mean," he interrupted, "that I am not famous; that now I never shall be! I started out meaning to—to win fame, but I—missed the way." He paused a moment, then went on, bitterly: "Question me about notoriety, Miss Lawton, and no man alive can give you more authentic information as to the method of its creation, its staying power, and its value. But I know not fame! If I died to-morrow I'd die like a dog—so far as memory or renown is concerned. Learn early to distinguish between the sound, noise, and rumor of notoriety and the credit, honor, and excellence of fame!"
"I'll try," the girl answered, simply, and then she added, gently: "I'm sorry you missed the way!"
A dimness came into the man's eyes as he responded, briefly, "Thank you!" and gazed at the picture that Sybil had returned to.
"Crowned queen!" she repeated. "Of course if you give me the chance, Mr. Thrall, I shall work hard for work's own sake, as well as to be a bread-winner. But all the time down in my heart I shall hope and hope that some day, in years to come, I may win a crown like that!"
The actor laughed derisively. "A pasteboard crown," he cried, "so thinly covered with gold-leaf you dare not try to burnish it!"