he directed. "Will you? I want to help you
in any way I can. I mean it."

Now Clare rose. "Good-by," she said pleasantly. "I'm sorry I rushed
out the way I did today. But--you understand." She extended a hand.

"Of course," he answered, scarcely touching the tips of her fingers.
"Yes."

"I wish you the best of luck." She bowed, and again to Balcome.

Balcome returned the bow sulkily. And turning his back as if to leave,
gave a quick glance round in time to see her make the other a warning
sign.

At this juncture, the hall door swung wide, and Tottie appeared, head
high with suppressed excitement, and face alive with curiosity.
"Here's another caller, Miss Crosby," she announced. At her back was
Sue.

Clare retreated, frowning.

Sue, breathless from hurrying, and embarrassed, halted, panting and
smiling, in the doorway. "Oh, dear! This dress never was meant for
anything faster than a wedding-march!"--this with that characteristic
look--the look of a child discovered in naughtiness, and entreating
forgiveness.

"Say, ain't you pop'lar!" broke in Tottie, shaking her head at Clare in
playful envy. And to Sue, "Y' know, all my theatrical friends 're just
crazy about her. They'll hate to see her go."

"Go?" repeated Sue, sobering.

"Tottie!" cried Clare, angrily. "Please! Never mind!" Peremptorily
she pointed her to leave.

Tottie, having accomplished her purpose, grinned a good-natured assent.
"All right, dearie,"--once more she was playing the fine lady, for the
edification of this new arrival so well worth impressing. "I call this
my rehearsal room," she informed, with a polite titter. "Pretty idea,
ain't it? Well,"--with a sweeping bow all around--"make yourselves to
home." She went out, one jeweled hand raised ostentatiously to her
back hair.

There was a moment's pause; then Sue held out an impulsive hand to the
younger woman. "Oh, you're not going to leave without seeing him," she
implored.

"Who do you mean?"--sullenly.

"Alan Farvel."

Clare's eyes flashed. "Does he know you came?"

"No."

Clare turned to Wallace. "Does your sister know my real name?" she
asked.

His pale face worked in a spasm. He coughed and swallowed. "N-n-no,"
he stammered.

"Now--just--wait--a--minute!" It was Balcome. He approached near
enough to Wallace to slap him smartly on the shoulder with the hat.
"You--told--me----"

"What does it matter?" argued the other. "One name's as good a