"I'm crazy about it.
I've been back three times. Parts of it I know off by heart.
He's very handsome. That picture don't do him justise."
I gave her a searching glanse. Was it posible that, without
any acquaintance with him whatever, she had fallen in love with
him? It was indeed. She showed it in every line of her silly
face.
I drew myself up hautily. "I should think it would be very
expencive, going so often," I said, in a cool tone.
"Not so very. You see, the play is a failure, and they give
us girls tickets to dress the house. Fill it up, you know. Half
the girls in the store are crazy about Mr. Egleston."
My world shuddered about me. What--fail! That beautiful
play, ending "My darling, my woman"? It could not be. Fate would
not be cruel. Was there no apreciation of the best in Art? Was
it indeed true, as Miss Everett has complained, although not in
these exact words, that the Theater was only supported now by
chorus girls' legs, dancing about in uter _abandon_?
With an expression of despair on my features, I left the
store, carrying the Frame under my arm.
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