"Poor mother!" sighed the girl. "She fears that you have met with some accident."
"In a very few hours that fear will be dispelled. What will she say when she learns the truth?"
"Ah, what?" responded Miss March. "I dread almost as much as I long for the meeting."
The anxious mother arrived on time. It is not our purpose to chronicle the first meeting between the long-separated couple. Such scenes defy the skill of the storyteller's pen or the artist's brush. Suffice it to say that the proofs of her identity presented by the young girl were perfectly satisfactory to Mrs. Allston, and that the reunion of mother and daughter was all that the fancy of either had ever pictured it.
True, the somewhat Puritanical old lady was a little shocked at finding her daughter a member of the theatrical profession; she had always regarded player folk as far beneath herself, both socially and morally, and her own daughter was probably the first actress she had ever seen off the stage.
"I wish, my dear," she said, "that you would give up this dreadful business and go home with me. To think of my child, my daughter, a play actress! It is dreadful!"
"Not quite as dreadful as you think, mother," the girl replied, quietly. "I could not conscientiously leave Mr. Wattles until he had secured some one else to play the part. Then, however, if you wish me to give up the stage, I shall do so. We will talk it all over after the performance to-night."
"Yes, we will talk it over after the performance," echoed the mother.
The house was crowded to the doors that night. Not a seat was to be had at eight o'clock; even standing room was at a premium.
Again Al had demonstrated his ability as a hustler.