The most thrilling first night of Sheila’s life was her debut as a mother. The doctor and the stork had a nip-and-tuck race. The young gentleman weighed more than ten   
pounds.
 
According to all the formulas of tradition, this epochal event should have made a different woman of Sheila. The child should have filled her life. According to actual 
 
history, Sheila was still Sheila, and her son, while he brought great joys and great anxieties, rather added new ambitions than satisfied the old.
 
Bret senior did not change his business interests or give up his office hours because of the child. Indeed, he was spurred on to greater effort that he might leave his 
 
heir a larger fortune.
 
The trained nurse, who received twenty-five dollars a week, and the regular nurse, who received twenty-five dollars a month, knew infinitely more about babies than 
 
Sheila.
 
The elder Mrs. Winfield, with the best intention and the worst tact, thought to make Sheila happy by telling her how happy she ought to be. This is an ancient practice 
 
that has never been discarded, though it has never yet succeeded.
 
The elder Mrs. Winfield said, “It’s a splendid thing for baby that you’ve given up the stage.”
 
Sheila felt an implied attack on her own family, and she bristled gently: “It’s fine for me, but I don’t think the baby would notice the difference if I acted every 
 
night. My mother didn’t leave the stage, and her mother and my father’s mother were hard-working actresses. And their children certainly prospered. Besides, if I 
 
were out of the way, the baby would have the advantage of its grandmother uninterrupted.”
 
The new grandmother accepted the last statement as an obvious truth and attacked the first. “You’re still thinking of going back, then?”
 
“Not at all,” said Sheila. “I’ll never act again. I was just saying that it wouldn’t harm the baby if I did. And,” she added, meekly, “it might be the making of 
 
him to have me out of the way.”
 
She said this with honest deprecation. She was troubled to find that she had not become one of those mere mothers that are so universal in books. She was horrified to 
 
discover that at times the baby lost its novelty, that its tantrums tried her nerves. She did not know enough to know that this was true of all mothers. She felt 
 
ashamed and afraid of herself. She did not return to her normal glow of health so soon as she should have done. She kept thin and wan. Cheerfulness was not in her, 
 
save when she played it like a r?le.
 
At length the doctor recommended a change of scene. Since it was not quiet that she needed, he suggested diversion, a trip to the city. The three Winfields made the 
 
journey—father, mother, and baby, not to mention the nurse.
 
The quick pulse and exultant life of New York reacted upon Sheila. She found the theaters a swift tonic, and, since “The Woman Pays” was now on the road after a long 
 
season on Broadway, there was no danger of choosing the wrong theater. She and Bret reveled in the pla............