the placid woman who
had caused all the trouble turned suddenly to her.

"I _do_ owe an apology to you, my dear," she said. "I see you feel very
badly about it. Don't. It really is not worth thinking of. You evidently
have a spiteful enemy in that girl who has run away. But, of course, my
dear, such unfounded accusations have no weight in the minds of sensible
people." She seemed quite to have forgotten that hers was the first
accusation.

She glanced about disdainfully upon the group of whispering women and
girls. Some of them quite evidently recognized her. How could they help
it, when her features were so frequently pictured on the screen? But Nan
had not identified this woman with the great actress-director, whose
films were being talked of from ocean to ocean.

"Come, my dear," she said. "We can find a quieter place to talk, I know.
And I _do_ wish to know you better."

Whether it were unwise or not, Nan Sherwood found it impossible to
refuse the request of so beautiful a woman. Nan immediately fell under
the charm of her beauty and her voice. She went with her dumbly and
forgot the unpleasant people who stood about and stared. The lovely
woman's light hand upon her arm, too, took away the memory of the
detective's stern grasp.

The actress led her to the nearest elevator where a coin slipped into
the palm of the elevator man caused him to shoot them up to another
floor without delay. In this way all the curious ones lost trace of Nan
and her new friend. In a few moments they were sitting in one of the
tea-rooms where a white-aproned maid served them with tea and sweets at
Madam's command.

"That is what you need, my dear," said Nan's host. "Our unfailing
nerve-reviver and satisfier--tea. What would our sex do without it? And
how do we manage to keep our complexions as we do, and still imbibe
hogsheads of tea?"

She laughed and pinched Nan's cheek. "You have a splendid complexion
yourself, child. And there's quite some film-charm in your features, I
can see. Of course, you have never posed?"

"For moving pictures?" gasped Nan, at last waking up to what the woman
meant. "Oh, no, indeed!"

"You are not like most other young girls, then?" said the woman. "You
haven't the craze to act in the silent drama?"

"I never thought of such a thing," Nan innocently replied. "Film
companies do not hire girls of my age, do they?"

"Not unless they are wonderfully well adapted for the work," agreed the
actress. "But