y and wait
out in the snow for you all night--and give you material for new
stories? . . . Stand still while I find the handle."

He led her through a studded iron door into the twilit auditorium. The
stalls were swathed in holland covers, and there was a brooding warm
desolation which invited undertones. Barbara looked with growing
interest at a sprawling group of two men and three women on the stage.
Without make-up they were white and featureless in the glare of the
foot-lights; they were jaded and a little impatient, too, but Manders,
who seemed to make his personality unyielding and metallic on entering a
theatre, galvanized them into alertness. A wooden platform had been
built over the middle of the orchestra; and, as soon as he had disposed
of Barbara in the stalls, Eric mounted it and seated himself in an
arm-chair. Manders cautiously squeezed past him, script in hand, to the
stage; there was a preliminary cough, a cry of "Beginners, please!" and
the rehearsal opened.

Eric allowed the first act to be played without interruption; at the end
he jumped up and entered into whispered conversation with Manders,
turning the leaves of the manuscript and tapping them impressively with
his pencil. One player after another emerged from the wings and stood
listening, nodding and discussing as each point was thrashed out. A few
minutes later Manders came down into the stalls and sat by Barbara.

"Just a breather," he explained. "No good nagging your people,
particularly when they've been at the job for years and you're a
new-comer. . . . Some of my spoiled darlings find that a little Eric
goes a long way. You're sure you're not bored, my dear?"

"I can't _see_ very well," Barbara answered. "If I had a chair on the
little platform----"

Manders wasted an unseen wink on her.

"Well, you mustn't talk to Eric, that's all. And, if you see you're
making him nervous, you must run away."

He helped her up and accommodated her with a property foot-stool by
Eric's chair, leaving her for a moment's resentful scrutiny by a young
woman who had been arguing with winsome persuasiveness about a speech
which Eric under pressure from Manders had consented to cut.

"Who's that, Eric?" Barbara whispered, as he settled into place.

"Mabel Elstree."

"H'm. She doesn't seem to like my being here. . . . Does _everybody_
call you Eric?"

"You're well placed to answer that. Now, Lady Barbara, remember your
promise: no talking!"

The