k in a sweet and rather deep voice
with an ineluctably refined--and foreign--accent that gloves were
cheaper in New York than in Paris. She had been passed several times
in her smart little car, and once she had been seen going into the
Public Library. Evidently she was no hermit. Several of the
Sophisticates had friends in Society and questioned them eagerly, but
were rewarded only by questions as eager in return.

On the sixth of these first-nights, when the unknown slipped quietly
from her seat at the end of the last act, she saw the aisle in front of
her almost blocked. One after another the rows of seats were hurriedly
deserted. Clavering, as usual, was directly behind her, but Mr.
Dinwiddie, forced from his chair many aisles back, was swept out with
the crowd.

When she reached the foyer she found herself surrounded by men and
women whose frank interest was of the same well-bred but artless
essence as that afforded a famous actress or prima donna exhibiting
herself before the footlights. It was evident that she had a sense of
humor, for as she made her way slowly toward the entrance a smile
twitched her mouth more than once. Clavering thought that she was on
the point of laughing outright. But he fumed. "Damn them! They'll
scare her off. She'll never come again."

One or two women had vowed they'd speak to her. After all a
first-night was a club of sorts. But their courage failed them. The
crowd made way for her and she crossed the pavement to wait for her
car. Clavering, always hoping that some drunken brute would give him
the opportunity to succor her, followed and stood as close as he dared.
Her car drove up and she entered. As it started she turned her head
and looked straight at him. And then Clavering was sure that she
laughed outright.

He started recklessly after the car, plunging between automobiles going
in four different directions, and jumping on the running board of a
taxi, told the man to drive like hell toward Park Avenue. There was
amused recognition in that glance! She had, must have, noticed him
before tonight!

And then he had his chance. To the brave belong the fair.

VII

He dismissed the taxi at the corner of her street and walked rapidly
toward the house. He had no definite object, but with the blood of
romantic ancestors who had serenaded beneath magnolia trees pounding in
his veins, he thought it likely he would take up his stand under the
opposite lamp