XI.
WHEN he had sufficiently recovered to think, he put her back from him. “Is there an end of the deception now?” he asked, sternly. “Am I to trust you in your new character?”
“You are not to be harder on me than I deserve,” she answered, gently. “Did you ever hear of an actress named Miss Max?”
He began to understand her. “Forgive me if I spoke harshly,” he said. “You have put me to a severe trial.”
She burst into tears. “Love,” she murmured, “is my only excuse.”
From that moment she had won her pardon. He took her hand, and made her sit by him.
“Yes,” he said, “I have heard of Miss Max and of her wonderful powers of personation—and I have always regretted not having seen her while she was on the stage.”
“Did you hear anything more of her, Ernest?”
“Yes, I heard that she was a pattern of modesty and good conduct, and that she gave up her profession, at the height of her success, to marry an old man.”
“Will you come with me to my room?” she asked. “I have something there which I wish to show you.”