eager guide along the dark balcony, until
they had got near the brilliant red window. They looked in. The room was
bright with crimson-shaded lamps, and its solitary occupant they made
out clearly enough; it was Mr. Percival Miles--in evening dress,
standing before the fireplace, gazing into the coals, his hands in his
pockets.

"Ah," said Nina, as she quickly drew back, "that is the young gentleman
who sometimes waits for Miss Burgoyne, is it not, Leo? And he is all by
himself. It is hard."

"You think it is hard, Nina?" Lionel said, turning to her, as the three
spies simultaneously withdrew.

"Oh, yes, yes!" Nina exclaimed.

"Well, you see," continued Lionel, as he opened the glass door to let
his companions re-enter the hotel, "an outsider who comes skylarking
after an actress, and finds her surrounded by her professional friends
and her professional interests, has to undergo a good deal of
tribulation. That poor fellow has come down here to dine all by himself,
merely to be near her. But, mind you, it was that same fellow who wanted
to kill me."

"He, kill you!" Nina said, scornfully. "You allowed him to live--yes?"

"But I don't bear any malice. No, I don't. I'm going to make that boy
just the very happiest young man there is in the kingdom of Great
Britain this evening."

"Ah, I know, I know!" exclaimed Nina, delightedly.

"Oh, no, you don't know. You don't know anything about it. What you and
Miss Girond have got to do now is to go into the cloak-room and leave
your things, and afterwards I'll meet you in the dining-room."

"Yes, but you are going to Mr. Lehmann!" said Nina, with a laugh. "I do
not know?--yes, I do know. Ah, that is generous of you, Leo--that is
noble."

"Noble?--trash!" he said; and he hurried these young people along to the
disrobing-room and left them there. Then he went to the manager, who was
still in the hall.

"I say," he began, without more ado, "there's a young friend of mine in
this hotel whom I wish you'd invite to dine with us."

The manager looked rather startled--then hesitated--then stroked his
waxed moustache.

"I--I presume a gentleman friend?"

"Yes, of course," said Lionel, angrily. "It's a Percival Miles--why, you
must have heard of Sir Barrington Miles, and this is his eldest son,
though he's quite a young fellow--"

"Oh, very well; oh, yes, certainly!" said Mr. Lehmann, apparently very
much relieved. "Will you ask him?"

"Well, no, I can't exactly," Lio