immediate roar of sliding
wings, which mingled with the exit strains of the orchestra, like a
Debussy right-hand theme defying the left, and the rumble of forests,
retreating.

Scene-shifters, to whom every encore is a knell, demolished whole
kingdoms at a lunge, half a hundred satin slippers flashed up a spiral
staircase to chorus dressing-rooms, the Red Widow flung the trail of the
gown she had on--so carelessly dragged across the tarpaulin terra firma
of Bungel--across one bare arm and darted through the door with a red
star painted on the panel.

Her dressing-room, hung in vivid chintz, with a canopied table replacing
the make-up shelf, and a passing show of signed photographs tacked along
the wall, was as fantastic as Gnomes' Cave.

A wildness of chiffon and sleazy silk hung from the wall-hooks, a pair
of gauze aeroplane wings hovered across a chair, and, atop a trunk,
impertinent as a Pierette, the black pony was removing the gold star
from her hair.

"Warm house to-night, Del. I sent Sibbie across to the hotel with your
flowers."

"Yeh--best house yet."

"But gee! it's a wonder he wouldn't give away kerosene."

"Rotten stuff."

"It made me so dizzy I nearly flopped like a seal in the pony prance. He
must 'a' bought it by the keg."

"I told him it was strong enough to run his new motor-boat. Gawd, ain't
I tired! How'd the aeroplane song go, Ysobel?"

"Swell! But leave it to Billy to hog your act every time. I seen him
grab a laugh when the propellers was workin'."

"Undo me, Ysobel? Why'd you let Sibbie go? Can't you let me get used to
having a maid, hon'?"

"Poor kid, you're dead, ain't you? But you gotta go with him to-night or
he'll howl."

Della lowered her beaded lashes over eyes that smarted, and raised her
arms like Niobe entreating fate.

"Sure, I gotta go. He's been bragging about this hundredth-night
blow-out for a month."

"Quit squirming, Del! Hold still, can't you?"

"Five recalls on 'Let me die,' Ysobel."

"You never went better."

Della slid out of her gown and into a gold-colored kimono embroidered in
black flying swans, and creamed off her make-up in long, even strokes.

"Look, he wants me to wear that silver-fox coat and the cloth-of-silver
gown. Honest, it's so heavy I nearly fainted in it the other night. Lots
he cares!"

"It'll be a swell blow, Del. The hundredth night he gave when Perfecta
was starring was town talk. He don't stop at nothin'."

"No, he don't stop