ll
her so. Also, I want her to express herself naturally with no idea of
my being the author of the play and without the presence of her
manager. Will you just ask if she will see a friend of yours--alone?"

Jasper smiled his subtle smile. "Of course, Prosper. It's all as clear
as daylight."

Prosper did not notice the Jew's intelligent expression. He was too
much absorbed in his own excitement. In a moment he would be with
Joan--Joan, his love of winter nights!

Morena tapped upon a door. A maid half-opened it.

"Ask Miss West, please, if she will see a friend of Mr. Morena's. Tell
her I particularly wish her to give him a private interview." He
scribbled a line on a card and the maid took it in.

In five minutes, during which the two men waited silently, she came
back.

"Miss West will see your friend, sir."

"Ah! Then I'll take myself off. Prosper, will you join Betty and me at
supper?"

"No, thanks. I'll have my brief interview with Miss West and then go
home, if you'll forgive me. I'm about all in. New York's too much for
a man just home from the front."

Jasper laid his hand for a moment on Prosper's shoulder, smiled,
shrugged, and turned away. Prosper waited till his friend was out of
sight and hearing, then knocked and was admitted to the dressing-room
of Miss Jane West.

She had not changed from the evening dress she had worn in the last
scene nor had she yet got rid of her make-up. She was sitting in a
narrow-backed chair that had been turned away from the dressing-table.
The maid was putting away some costumes.

Prosper walked half across the room and stopped.

"Miss West," he said quietly.

She stood up. The natural color left her face ghastly with patches of
paint and daubs of black. She threw back her head and said, "Prosper!"
just above her breath.

"Go out, Henrietta." This was spoken to the maid in the voice of Jane
the virago and Henrietta fled.

At sight of Joan, Prosper had won back instantly his old poise, his
old feeling of ascendancy.

"Joan, Joan," he said gently; "was ever anything so strange? Why
didn't you let me know? Why didn't you answer my letters? Why didn't
you take my money? I have suffered greatly on your account."

Joan laughed. Four years ago she would not have been capable of this
laugh, and Prosper started.

"I wrote again and again," he said passionately. "Wen Ho told me that
you had gone, that he didn't know anything about your plans. I went
out to Wyomi