details of the gown
Mignon wore aroused an unpleasant suspicion in her active brain. A
swift-footed messenger had already sped away to find the young composer,
who, with the departure of Ronald Atwell had taken the arduous duties of
stage manager upon his capable shoulders.

When the information of Mignon's collapse reached him, he made no move
to go to her. Instead, he beckoned to Harriet Delaney, who had just come
upstairs, and whispered a few words to her which caused her colorful
face to pale, then turn pinker than usual.

"But I haven't a suitable costume," several girls heard her protest.

"Go on as you are. Your costume is suitable," reassured Laurie.

But down in the dressing room Mignon had struggled to her feet. The
knowledge that her unfairness was to cost her her own part in the
operetta aroused her to action. In feverish haste she began to tear off
the gown she wore.

"Second act," rang out through the corridor. With a low wail of genuine
grief, Mignon dropped into a chair. She heard Harriet Delaney begin her
first song. Unable to bear the chagrin that was hers, she sprang up.
Readjusting the gown she had partly thrown off, she seized her cloak and
wrapped it about her. Then she fled up the stairway, and into the calm,
starlit night to where her runabout awaited her, the victim of her own
wrong-doing.

* * * * *

It was a happy trio of girls that, shortly before midnight, climbed into
the Deans' automobile, in which Mr. and Mrs. Dean sat patiently awaiting
their exit from the stage door. Lawrence Armitage's operetta had been an
artistic as well as a financial success. It had been a "Standing Room
Only" audience, and the proceeds were to be given to the Sanford
Hospital for Children. Laurie had decreed this as a quiet memento to
Constance's devotion to little Charlie during his days of infirmity. The
audience had not been chary of their applause. The principals had
received numerous curtain calls, Constance had received an enthusiastic
ovation, and many beautiful floral tokens from her admiring friends.
Laurie had been assailed with cries of "Composer! Speech! Speech!" and
had been obliged to respond. Even the chorus came in for its share of
approbation, and to her intense amazement Marjorie Dean received two
immense bouquets of roses, a fitting tribute to her fresh, young beauty.
One of them bore Hal Macy's card, the other she afterward learned was
the joint contributi