Her small passionate lips were slightly parted to give vent to her hurried breath.

Her widely opened lids threw up and arched her black eyebrows.

She did not laugh at the dismal comicalities of the funny man, for Mliss seldom laughed.

Nor was she discreetly affected to the delicate extremes of the corner of a white handkerchief, as was the tender-hearted "Clytie," who was talking with her "feller" and ogling the master at the same moment.

But when the performance was over, and the green curtain fell on the little stage, Mliss drew a long deep breath, and turned to the master's grave face with a half-apologetic smile and wearied gesture.