Monsieur appeared no longer interested. He paid for his bouquet, which
was to be sent to the stage door that evening, then wrote a message on a
card. This time the card bore no "swell sentiment;" the words were frank
and to the point:

"Why can't I know you? I want to so much. I am alone here and a stranger.
If you care to look me over and see if you think I'm worth meeting, I'll
be in the right-hand stage box tonight.

"BOYE MAYER,

"Argonaut Hotel."

As he walked to the Albion he thought over what he had heard. It was very
different from what he had expected to hear and increased his interest in
her. He had given her credit for a high artistic intelligence, but
evidently she possessed the other kind too. How else could she have
spread an impression of herself so unlike what she really was? A deep,
_rusee_ girl! He began to be very keen to meet her and see which of the
two would be the more expert in the duel of attack and parry.

The flowers and the note were delivered in the first entr'acte. With a
sliding rush Pancha was back on the stage, her eye glued to the peephole
in the curtain. What she saw held her tranced. Like Mark, her standards
suffered from a limited experience. That the effective pose was studied,
the handsome face hard and withered, the evening dress too showily
elegant, escaped her. She had never--except on the covers of
magazines--seen such a man.