ent with her," the old keeper
answered, as he leered at Mr. Rooney, and accepted the big black cigar
offered him.

"Big, red-headed chap with the show?" Mr. Rooney questioned carelessly.

"Same," admitted the old keeper.

"Cuss her," Mr. Rooney remarked, without either special interest or
malice, and took his leisurely way to his hotel.

The star dressing-room at the little Atlantic City theater, in which
half the plays produced on Broadway first try out their charm, is larger
than the dressing-rooms in most of the modern theaters, and dainty
Susette always made any dressing-room which happened to serve Miss
Hawtry look more like a boudoir than seemed possible, by taking thought
to have silky rose curtains to adjust over costume-racks and windows,
with covers to match to be slipped over the couple of rough chairs
usually supplied dressing-rooms. A fillet covering large enough for any
dressing-table, the silver and ivory of the make-up outfit, and lights
shaded with the fillet over rose were about all the equipment that the
French girl carried in the top of one of Miss Hawtry's costume trunks,
but she managed an effect with them that many a Fifth Avenue decorator
might envy. Following instructions, she had put all in exquisite order
and left the theater before Miss Hawtry was off the stage. The Violet
had been obliged to send her summons to Mr. Dennis Farraday by the old
door-keeper; hence his knowledge of her manoeuvers.

Miss Hawtry was still encased in the magnificence of the costume for the
final scene of "The Purple Slipper," and in the rose light of the little
dressing-room she glowed like a fire-hearted opal as Mr. Dennis Farraday
entered with the great hesitation of a first appearance in a stage
dressing-room. His face was pale and serious. Miss Hawtry had seen that
her Maggie Murphy insult to Mr. Vandeford had apparently cut more deeply
into the big Jonathan than into Mr. Vandeford himself, and she had
realized that she must set her scene well and act quickly and with
daring if she accomplished her purposes.

"Forgive me--and comfort me. I have hurt myself more than I have hurt
him," she cried out as she turned to him and expelled two sparkling
tears from her great blue eyes, and held out bare, white, glorious arms
to him, with the sob of a repentant child caught in her throat.

Now, Mr. Dennis Farraday, great gentleman and the son of a line of
gentlemen, was in the same state that many another good man a