It was past eleven o’clock, and the hansom cabs whirled gaily down Piccadilly bearing the theatre goers homewards, some laden with laughing girls, whose youth needed no jewels to enhance it’s charms, while others carried less captivating fares whose complexions had been donned with too lavish a hand, and who had striven to make a show of diamonds alone for the lack of lustre in their eyes, a judicious arrangement of satins and laces hiding awkward angles of undesirable plumpness.

  Up and down the pavement a woman walked with restless steps, occasionally scanning the cabs as they flashed past, their lights gleaming in the shop windows, and frequently looking at the watch set in a jewelled bracelet which encircled one white wrist, while the other hand held the silken skirts closely around her.

  “Late!” she muttered. “He said eleven-thirty, and it’s nearly twelve now!” and she turned again impatiently colliding as she did so with a young girl, who was hurrying in the opposite direction.  She stepped back as the girl caught her arm.

  “Could you tell me the way to Kensington” she faltercd breathlessy.

  The woman looked at her curiously. She was about eighteen, fair and pretty, and wore a rich white silk dress and suitably trimmed hat, while her face was flushed as if she had been running.

  “Kensington is a long way from here,” she answered, in some surprise at the question.  “Are you alone?” she added abruptly.”

  “Yes,” replied the girl, flushing awkwardly.  “I, that is we went to the theatre, the Prince of Wales it was, and I missed father somehow outside.  He walked down the road to get a hansom cab, and I followed.  I thought he was hurrying rather, and I tried to catch him up.  I ran at last.  When he turned, I saw it wasn’t father after all, and I hurried past quickly for fear the man might speak to me.  I saw you. Oh, I was so glad to see a woman alone, that I could ask the way!”

  She paused breathlessly and looked anxiously at her companion who was smiling rather glumly.

  “If you are going the same way, can you walk along with me?  I don t know London a bit, and I don’t like the way people look. It frightens me,” she continued, her grasp tightening on the woman’s arm as some men passed, laughing.

  “Walk to Kensington? Why, it’s ridiculous” was the answer. Then, seeing tears in the blue eyes, which looked piteously into her own brown ones, she added, “You must take a cab”.

  The girl blushed painfully.

 “I have no money,” She faltered, “and we are in rooms in Kensington. The landlady will be in bed. What can I do?”

  The woman glanced down at a velvet bag hanging from her own costly belt, reflected an instant, then stepped quickly to the edge of the pavement, and signalled to a passing hansom cab.

  “Jump in!’ she said briefly. “I can give you the money.”

  The girl hesitated. “Can’t you come with me?’ she said pleadingly. “I know I’m troubling you, but indeed I am so frightened still!”

  The woman consulted her watch, with a look of indecision on her handsome, hard face.

  “Twelve,” she murmured to herself very low. ”I shall miss him.”

  The girl caught the last words.

  “’Are you waiting for a friend?” she said apologetically. “I’m so sorry! Of course I’ll go home alone.  I…”  The woman stayed her with a gesture, while an unaccustomed flush rose to her cheek.

  “I’m coming,” she said firmly. “Get In.”  And, as the girl obeyed, she gave one more glance up the street, then, with the same half cynical smile on her lips, she followed her.

  For some moments they drove along in a silence which the woman was the first to break.

  “Was your mother with you tonight as well?’ she asked abruptly.

  “I have no mother,” answered the girl sadly.

  “I beg your pardon,” said the woman, with a sudden curious softness in her voice.  “Has she been dead long?”

  “Ten years. I hardly remember her,” was the reply. Then, after a pause, the girl added, “But father is so good and kind, he almost makes up for not having her, though, of course, nobody is ever quite like your mother, are they?”

  The woman kept her face averted.

  “No,” she said, “I suppose not. And does your father miss her much?”

  “He never talks about her, though I have often asked him to tell me what she was like.  He says she was very beautiful, and that I am not like her a bit.”

  “Are you sorry?’ asked her companion.

  “I used to wish I were like her, but father says that beauty is a curse.  I don’t see why, do you?”

  The woman turned her head slowly, and looked at the girl rather sadly.

  “Never wish for it,” she said earnestly, “you are happier without.”

  There was a long silence. They had passed Hyde Park Corner, and were driving rapidly along Knightsbridge.  The woman seemed to be thinking deeply.  Presently she glanced round at the girl.

  “Will you tell me your name?  I should like to have something to remember you by,” she said gently.

  “It is Morris – Angela Morris,” was the ready answer.

  There was sudden snap, as the woman’s hand closed sharply, breaking the slender ivory sticks of a dainty fan suspended from her belt.

  “Do you live in London?” she asked hoarsely.

  “No, in Cornwall, at Launceston,” the girl said quietly.

  The woman’s face paled beneath the rouge, and she bit her lips fiercely to smother the involuntary exclamation that rose to them.

 “I was not called after my mother,” continued Angela. “I don’t know why. Her name was – ”.

 The cab stopped with a jerk, as the driver lifted the trap to ask on which side of the rather dark street they were entering, that the house stood.  The girl told him, and they jolted quickly along until the door was reached.

  Angela laid her hand on her companion’s arm as the cab drew up.

  “Won’t you tell me your name? I should love to know it, for you have been so kind,” she said gently.

  The woman hesitated, and then said slowly.  “It is Circe.”

 “Are you an actress, then?” cried the girl in surprise, not unmixed with awe.  One of those marvellous beings whom she had pictured in her girlish imagination as living in a sort of paradise, clad in glittering robes, the world worshipping at their feet, had actually driven home with her, in an ordinary cab, and discoursed with her of quite commonplace things!

  The woman looked at her in silence for a moment.

  “Yes, I am an actress,” she said at last. “But the part I am playing will last all my life.”

  The girl would have questioned further, but she stayed her with a decisive movement.

  “Good night.” she continued, in a voice which trembled in spite of her efforts to keep it cold and steady.

  “Will you – kiss me – Angela?”

  The girl bent forward eagerly, and for a brief instant their lips met.

  The sound of rapidly approaching hoofs and the tinkle of a bell broke the silence.  A moment later a second hansom cab drew up, and a man sprang hastily out.  Advancing to their cab, he called, “Angela, is that you?” in agitated tones.

  The girl gave a cry of delight as she jumped down, and began to explain hurriedly what had happened.  Her father listened quietly, then turned to the woman, who was standing a few paces away.

  “Madam,” he began.

 She raised her eyes and looked at him steadily. He gave an exclamation of amazement and stepped back in hesitation, then he glanced at Angela.

  “Run in dear,” he said, “here is the key. I wish to thank this – lady”.

  The girl entered the house, and he looked at the woman again.  There was piteous entreaty in her voice now.

  “Why did you do it?” he said abruptly.

  “I did not I know her, before heaven, I did not.  I only learnt her name on the way here by accident.  Ten years is a long time and she has altered so much.  Don’t be too hard on me, Jack!”

  The man winced as the name left her lips.

  “What did you tell her?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Nothing – nothing at all, except that my name was Circe, and I kissed her.  Oh, don’t grudge me that one kiss Jack!” as a look of disgust crossed his face.  “One kiss in ten long weary years”.

  “Who is to blame for that? he replied sternly. “You took the step with your eyes open.”

  The woman clenched her hands.

  “Have I ever sought your pity or forgiveness?  Have I ever made any attempt to see the child, my child?  Ah! You cannot alter that!  She is my child, though she will never know it, and thinks me dead!” she cried passionately.

  “Was it not better to let her think of you in that way?” be answered sadly.

  The woman started, then with an effort, pulled herself together, and held out her hand.

  “I thank you for your consideration,” she said simply.

  The man took the hand she extended, and looked at her long and earnestly.

  “Grace, can nothing be done?” he said slowly.

  She shook her head.

  “You forgot,” she answered, “I am Circe.”

  The man’s face whitened.

  We could go away, Grace – start anew in some quiet spot, far away from London” he said hoarsely. “I could explain to Angela somehow.  I could say -”

  “No.” interrupted the woman. “The time for that has long passed.  It has gone, and, with it my dreams of innocent happiness.  You speak of living in some quiet spot, I could not stand it.  I may have been originally meant for that sort of existence, Jack, but now I must have the rush and hurry of life around me, the glittering lights, the homage of the people, something to stifle my conscience, to keep me from thinking of all that might have been – once.”

  There was silence for a moment, then she added slowly.

  “A man – a good man, I hope – will want to marry Angela some day, Jack.  When that happens, her mother is dead – remember, dead – and, being so, cannot cast any slur upon the fair name of the daughter she loves and considers as the symbol of all she has lost – by her own fault.”

  She stepped quickly across the road to the waiting cab, and gave the driver an address in the Haymarket.  Angela’s father followed her, and placed a detaining hand on her arm.

  “Where are you going, Grace?” he said pleadingly.

  She turned, and looked at him gravely.

  “Grace is dead!” she said sadly. “I am only a ghost and am vanishing, as ghosts vanish, into the night.”

  She sprang quickly into the cab and it drove off.

  The  man stood by the railings, and watched it until it turned the corner of the deserted street, then, bowing his head on the cold iron, he wept bitter tears of unavailing regret for what might have been had fate but refrained from tangling the threads of his destiny past all human powers of unraveling. 

              ——-  The End  ——-