surprise for me," he said, taking her hand.

She smiled, a strange and, to him, an unnatural smile, made so by the
rouged lips and painted face. Had it not been for the sound of her voice
he would have doubted if the girl before him, still holding his hand
while the others scrutinized him, was Consuello.

"Speak, or I won't know it's you," he said.

"Were you really surprised?" she asked.

"Beyond words," he assured her.

She turned to the man with the horn-rim spectacles.

"That is all?" she inquired.

"All for today, Miss Carrillo, thank you," she was answered. "Tomorrow
at 2, same costume, but on the other set."

"Come," she said, turning to John. "We'll have tea and a talk as soon as
I return to--to normalcy--that was Mr. Harding's way of expressing it,
wasn't it?"

She led the way across the floor, along a twisting and turning path,
through furniture, furnishings and an accumulation of "props" to the
door. As they stepped out into the daylight again her face was more
unlike the face of the Consuello John knew than it had been in the half
gloom inside.

They crossed a narrow asphalt-paved road to a long two-story building.

"I won't be long," she said, opening the door to the section in which
her dressing room was located. "When I'm ready the maid will call you.
Will you wait here?"

"Don't hurry," he said. "I'll be right here where you left me."

While he was waiting "John J. Silence" emerged from the door of the
stage building. John frowned, pressed his forefinger to his lips in the
signal for silence that he had received inside. "John J. Silence,"
grinning, tiptoed away with ludicrous gestures.

In twenty minutes the maid called John to the door, holding it open for
him as he entered.

"This way, please," she said, taking the lead.

A dozen steps brought them to a door marked with Consuello's name. John
paused at the threshold while the maid entered, returning in a moment to
hold the door open for him again. As he stepped inside she went out into
the corridor, closing the door after her.

John found himself in a tiny room with brightly designed wallpaper,
matted rugs, a wicker chaise longue, wicker glass-topped table, wicker
tea wagon and wicker chairs, all decorated in a gay colored chintz. The
heavy curtains at one side of the room parted, and Consuello--the real
Consuello again--stood before him attired in a tailored suit gorgeous in
its simplicity, setting off a dainty real biche lace and