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“Yes,” said Elizabeth.

“Of course there must be ability or I would not waste my time. I must be sure the seed is there to be nursed ssss1 into a beautiful flower. But first and foremost, the actress I train must obliterate self. She must become so much clay for me to model. She must accept my direction without question. She must obey as a soldier obeys his commanding officer.”

“Yes,” sighed Elizabeth.

“I see you now not as you are, but as what I can make of you. No two of my stars are alike. Each has distinct and startling personality. That is why the American public looks to me for sensations. Not one is the actress she was when I discovered her. They are, one and all, Oswald Kane creations.” He leaned back, still studying her.

Elizabeth felt a sea of eyes upon her in a gaze of hypnosis. She stared back like one in a trance.

He sat for a long moment silent. Then the low, quiet voice went on, richly vibrant as the tones of a cello.

“Yes, I think I might do something with you. That Nazimova bit showed promise. But it will require training and patience—infinite patience. You will have to work hard without complaint, hours over one line, weeks over one short scene. And no recognition, perhaps, for some years to come. You must not consider mundane things. Money must count for nothing. I cannot think of money in connection with my art. You must never grow tired or disgruntled. Above all, you must not question. And in the end, a great artiste, my child,—a great artiste.”