alley." He stood for some time and
looked at it, before he went in to buy his ticket. Not until he was in
the train did he realize that he had forgotten to get his lunch.

He attended to his work that evening as usual, but he felt very tired,
and Lucy, going in at nine o'clock, found him dozing in his chair, his
collar half choking him and his face deeply suffused. She wakened him
and then, sitting down across from him, joined him in the vigil that was
to last until they heard the car outside.

She had brought in her sewing, and David pretended to read. Now and then
he looked at his watch.

At midnight they heard the car go in, and the slamming of the stable
door, followed by Dick's footsteps on the walk outside. Lucy was very
pale, and the hands that held her sewing twitched nervously. Suddenly
she stood up and put a hand on David's shoulder.

Dick was whistling on the kitchen porch.

VII

Louis Bassett was standing at the back of the theater, talking to the
publicity man of The Valley company, Fred Gregory. Bassett was calm and
only slightly interested. By the end of the first act he had realized
that the star was giving a fine performance, that she had even grown in
power, and that his sentimental memory of her was considerably dearer
than the reality.

"Going like a house afire," he said, as the curtain fell.

Beside his robust physique, Gregory, the publicity man, sank into
insignificance. Even his pale spats, at which Bassett had shot a
contemptuous glance, his highly expensive tailoring, failed to make him
appear more than he was, a little, dapper man, with a pale cold eye and
a rather too frequent smile. "She's the best there is," was his comment.
He hesitated, then added: "She's my sister, you know. Naturally, for
business reasons, I don't publish the relationship."

Bassett glanced at him.

"That so? Well, I'm glad she decided to come back. She's too good to
bury."

But if he expected Gregory to follow the lead he was disappointed. His
eyes, blank and expressionless, were wandering over the house as the
lights flashed up.

"This whole tour has been a triumph. She's the best there is," Gregory
repeated, "and they know it."

"Does she know it?" Bassett inquired.

"She doesn't throw any temperament, if that's what you mean. She--"

He checked himself suddenly, and stood, clutching the railing, bent
forward and staring into the audience. Bassett watched him, considerably
surprised. It too