came to me and requested me to play for him behind the
scenes in the last act. You know what happened. _That_ I cannot
explain.'

The situation was awkward for everybody. If Barbara's perfidy had
sullied his own life and left him desolate, Christopher could still
speak no evil of her in the presence of the man for whom she had jilted
him. Carl's tongue was tied by his regard for Holt's feelings. The
manager naturally wanted to get at the bottom of the situation, and the
dramatist felt that a friend whom he was learning to value had somehow
imperilled his play. All four stood silent, and footsteps came leisurely
up the stone stairs, and were heard very distinctly in the stillness.
The door had been left open, but one of the new-comers stopped to tap at
it.

'Come in,' cried Carl, ready to welcome any diversion.

A red face and a grey head came round the door.

'Does Mr. Stretton------? Oh! Chris, my boy, how are you?'

No other a person than Barbara's uncle.

'I've brought Barbara to see you. Come in, Barbara. Why, what's the
matter?'

Christopher turned away from Barbara, as she approached him, veiled,
and walked to the window, through which he looked on the night, seeing
nothing.

'Chris!' said Barbara, in a pathetic, wounded voice. 'Chris!'
Mechanically she raised her veil and looked round upon her uncle with a
pale scared face.

'Stretton!' roared Carl, leaping at him and laying forcible hands upon
him, forgetful of his own sprained wrist. 'Is this Miss Allen?'

'Yes,' said Christopher, with a sob which would have way in spite of
him.

'Then it isn't Mademoiselle Helene,' said Carl.

Christopher turned with bewildered looks.

'Tell me,' he said to Barbara wildly, 'are you playing at the Garrick
Theatre?'

'You've been a-drinking, Christopher,' said Barbara's uncle plaintively.

'No,' said Barbara, frightened as she well might be at the presence of
strangers at this curious scene, and at the scene itself. 'Uncle had
business in London, and he brought me with him this afternoon. We heard
that you had written the music to a play, and we went to hear it. We--we
thought you would be conducting, and that I should see you there.'

Little Barbara put up her hands and began to cry.

'Sir,' said Carl to the manager, 'I ask you, as the first step towards
the understanding of this business, to admit that the likeness between
this young lady and Mademoiselle Helene is very remarkable and close.'

'Very re