She turned toward the door at once, as though welcoming a summons which
so opportunely relieved her from embarrassing explanations: but Varney,
who happened to have duties to her father to discharge, stood before
her, not moving.
"Just now in the theatre," he said pleasantly, "you cut me. That was for
him. I understood. But is there any valid reason why you should not stay
on speaking terms with--Laurence Varney?"
To his surprise, a vivid red swept up her face from throat to hair and
her eyes fluttered and fell.
"Please," she said, "don't ask me to discuss this any more."
Varney stood aside, bowing, to let her pass out.
"I shall bring you proofs of my identity to-morrow, since that seems
necessary," he said with a laugh. "You won't refuse to see me, if you
care anything about being fair. But shall I tell you something, Miss
Carstairs? In your heart _you believe me now_!"
At the outer door, Varney all but collided with a man listlessly
entering, and, glancing up, saw that it was the pale young editor,
Coligny Smith.
"I hope you enjoyed the meeting," flung out Varney in passing.
"Why, greetings--greetings!" said Mr. Smith, a mocking smile on his thin
lips. "I've just been out to buy your picture, Beany."
With which singular rejoinder, he slipped by into the lobby.
* * * * *
J. Pinkney Hare lingered some time in the theatre after Miss Carstairs
joined him, enveloped in a heartening whirl of new popularity. To the
candidate it seemed that his star had changed with stunning swiftness.
His advance to the door had been a Roman progress; and when he finally
reached the lobby he was still the focus of a coterie of enthusiasts who
would not be shaken off. Here a new halt was made: new people surrounded
him; more hand-shakings and back-slappings took place; and everything
seemed merry as a marriage-bell.
But Peter, coming out of the hall a moment after Varney had left, saw
hovering about this intimate circle an elderly man of a faded exterior
and shabby clothes, who wore a black felt hat pulled down over
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