Beulah Baxter would be
lost. "Exit limping," murmured the girl as he turned away. He hurried
again to the door, paid the check and was outside. Miss Baxter was not
to be seen. His forgetfulness about the check had lost her to him. He
had meant to follow, to find the place where she was working, and look
and look and look! Now he had lost her. But she might be on one of
those stages within the big barns. Perhaps the day was not yet lost.
He crossed the street, forgetting to saunter, and ventured within the
cavernous gloom beyond an open door. He stood for a moment, his vision
dulled by the dusk. Presently he saw that he faced a wall of canvas
backing. Beyond this were low voices and the sound of people moving. He
went forward to a break in the canvas wall and at the same moment there
was a metallic jar and light flooded the enclosure. From somewhere
outside came music, principally the low, leisurely moan of a 'cello. A
beautiful woman in evening dress was with suppressed emotion kneeling at
the bedside of a sleeping child. At the doorway stood a dark, handsome
gentleman in evening dress, regarding her with a cynical smile. The
woman seemed to bid the child farewell, and arose with hands to her
breast and quivering lips. The still-smiling gentleman awaited her. When
she came to him, glancing backward to the sleeping child, he threw
about her an elaborate fur cloak and drew her to him, his cynical smile
changing to one of deceitful tenderness. The woman still glanced back at
the child, but permitted herself to be drawn through the doorway by
the insistent gentleman. From a door the other side of the bed came a
kind-faced nurse. She looked first at the little one then advanced to
stare after the departing couple. She raised her hands tragically and
her face became set in a mask of sorrow and despair. She clasped the
hands desperately.

Merton Gill saw his nurse to be the Montague mother. "All right," said
an authoritative voice. Mrs. Montague relaxed her features and withdrew,
while an unkempt youth came to stand in front of the still-grinding
camera and held before it a placard on which were numbers. The camera
stopped, the youth with the placard vanished. "Save it," called another
voice, and with another metallic jar the flood of light was turned off.
The 'cello ceased its moan in the middle of a bar.

The watcher recalled some of the girl's chat. Her mother had a character
bit in Her Other Husband. This would be it, on