I don't know how many young men in that audience were left without
an atom of heart, how many would have given their two ears to be in
handsome Landry Barbeaud's boots.

The roof nearly rose with the thunders of applause when the curtain
fell, and Carl Walraven got up with the rest, his head whirling, his
brain dizzy.

"Good Heaven!" he thought, stumbling along the dark, chilly streets to
his hotel, "what a perfectly dazzling little witch she is! Was there
ever such another sparkling, bewildering little fairy in the world
before?"

Mr. Walraven spent the night in a fever of impatience. He was one of
those men who, when they set their hearts on anything, find no peace, no
rest, until they obtain it. He had come here partly through curiosity,
partly because he dare not refuse Miriam; he had seen Mary Dane, and lo!
at first sight he was dazzled and bewitched.

Next morning, at breakfast, Mr. Walraven obtained all the information he
desired concerning Miss Mollie Dane. Some half dozen of the actors were
stopping at the hotel, and proved very willing, under the influence of
brandy and water, to give the free-handed stranger Miss Dane's biography
as far as they knew it.

She was just as charming off the stage as on; just as pretty, just
as saucy, just as captivating. She was wild and full of tricks as an
unbroken colt; but she was a thoroughly good girl, for all that, lavish
of her money to all who needed, and snubbing lovers incontinently. She