When a piece failed she was wont to display that exaggerated
discouragement peculiar to the artist. Tonight, sitting in front of her
mirror, she was as confident and smiling as she had been in the first
week of "The Zingara."

"I'm glad to see you're taking it so well," he said. "It's pretty hard
following on a big success."

"Oh, it's all in the day's work. You can't hit the bull's eye every time.
The management are going to dig down into their barrel next week, hunting
for another gypsy role. They want me again in my braids and my spangles.
They liked my red and orange--Spanish colors for the Spanish girl."

She flashed her gleaming smile at him and he thought how remarkably well
she was looking, getting handsomer every day. Her words recalled
something he had wanted to ask her and had forgotten.

"Talking of red and orange, how about that anonymous guy that sent you
the flowers? You remember, back in the autumn--a lot of roses with a
motto he got out of a Christmas cracker?"

She had her comb in her hand and dropped it, leaning down to scratch
round for it on the floor.

"Oh, _him_--he's just petered out."

"Did you find out who he was?"

Up to this Pancha had been nearly as truthful with Crowder as she was
with her father. But now a time had come when she felt she must lie. That