gloomy shadows of the wings, and thus came face to face with Winston.
His eyes were glowing with unconcealed appreciation of her art.
Perhaps the quick reaction had partially unstrung her nerves, for she
spoke with feverish haste at sight of his uprolled sleeves and coarse
woollen shirt.

"How does it occur that you are always standing directly in my passage
whenever I step from the stage?" she questioned impetuously. "Is there
no other place where you can wait to do your work except in my exit?"

For a brief moment the surprised man stood hesitating, hat in hand.

"I certainly regret having thus unintentionally offended you, Miss
Norvell," he explained at last, slowly. "Yet, surely, the occasion
should bring you pleasure rather than annoyance."

"Indeed! Why, pray?"

"Because I so greatly enjoy your work. I stood here merely that I
might observe the details more carefully."

She glanced directly at him with suddenly aroused interest.

"You enjoy my work?" she exclaimed, slightly smiling. "How extremely
droll! Yet without doubt you do, precisely as those others, out
yonder, without the slightest conception of what it all means.
Probably you are equally interested in the delicate art of Mr. T.
Macready Lane?"

Winston permitted his cool gray eyes to brighten, his firmly set lips