putting away the scenery of the last act as methodically as if nothing
had happened.

'Do you know her?' Margaret asked of her companion as they hurried
along the passage that leads into the house.

'Barely. She is a Miss Bamberger, and she was to have been married the
day after to-morrow, poor thing--to a millionaire. I always forget his
name, though I've met him several times.'

'Van Torp?' asked Margaret as they hastened on.

'Yes. That's it--the Nickel Trust man, you know.'

'Yes,' Margaret answered in a low tone. 'I was asked to sing at the
wedding.'

They reached the door of the manager's room. The clerks from the
box-office and several other persons employed about the house were
whispering together in the little lobby. They made way for Cordova and
looked with curiosity at Griggs, who was a well-known man of letters.

Schreiermeyer stood at the half-closed inner door, evidently waiting.

'Come in,' he said to Margaret. 'The doctor is there.'

The room was flooded with electric light, and smelt of very strong
Havana cigars and brandy. Margaret saw a slight figure in a red silk
evening gown, lying at full length on an immense red leathern sofa. A
young doctor was kneeling on the floor, bending down to press his ear