oss as to how
she could.

"Dressing room comfortable, everybody respectful and all that sort of
thing?" he asked. "Just say the word, if they give you trouble or cheek,
and I'll have them kicked out whoever they are, from the manager
downwards."

"Oh, thank you," she said hurriedly, "everybody is most polite and
nice." She held out her hand. "I am afraid I must go now. A--a friend is
waiting for me."

"One minute, Miss White." He licked his lips, and there was an
unaccustomed embarrassment in his manner. "Maybe you'll come along one
night after the show and have a little supper. You know I'm very keen on
you and all that sort of thing."

"I know you're very keen on me and all that sort of thing," said Maisie
White, a note of irony in her voice, "but unfortunately I'm not very
keen on supper and all that sort of thing."

She smiled and again held out her hand.

"I'll say good night now."

"Do you know, Maisie----" he began.

"Good night," she said and brushed past him.

He looked after her as she disappeared into the darkness, a little frown
gathering on his forehead, then with a shrug of his shoulders he walked
slowly back to the doorkeeper's office.

"Send somebody to get my car," he snapped.

He waited impatiently, chewing his cigar, till the dripping figure of
the doorkeeper reappeared with the information that the car was at the
end of the passage. He put up his umbrella and walked through the
pelting rain to where his limousine stood.

Pinto Silva was angry, and his anger was of the hateful, smouldering
type which grew in strength from moment to moment and from hour to hour.
How dare she treat him like this? She, who owed her engagement to his
influence, and whose fortune and future were in his hands. He would
speak to the colonel and the colonel could speak to her father. He had
had enough of this.

He recognised with a start that he was afraid of the girl. It was
incredible, but it was true. He had never felt that way to a woman
before, but there was something in her eyes, a cold disdain which cowed
even as it maddened him.

The car drew up before a block of buildings in a deserted West End
thoroughfare. He flashed on the electric light and saw that the hour was
a little after eleven. The last thing in the world he wanted was to take
part in a conference that night. But if he wanted anything less, it was
to cross the colonel at this moment of crisis.

He walked through the dark vestibule and