No wonder Max Hempel had peremptorily demanded to be shown behind the
scenes without an instant's delay. He was almost in a panic lest some
other manager should likewise have gotten wind of this Rosalind and be
lurking in the wings even now to pounce upon his own legitimate prey. He
couldn't quite forget either the tall young man of the afternoon's
encounter, his seatmate up from Springfield. He wasn't exactly afraid,
however, having seen the girl and watched her live Rosalind. The child
had wings and would want to fly far and free with them, unless he was
mightily mistaken in his reading of her.

Tony was still resplendent in her wedding white, and with her arms full
of roses, when she obeyed the summons to the stage door on being told
that the great manager wished to see her. She came toward him, flushed,
excited, adorably pretty. She laid down her roses and held out her hand,
shy, but perfectly self-possessed.

"'Well, this is the Forest of Arden,'" she quoted. "It must be or else I
am dreaming. As long as I can remember I have wanted to meet you, and
here you are, right on the edge of the forest."

He bowed low over her hand and raised it gallantly to his lips.

"I rather think I am still in Arden myself," he said. "My dear, you have
given me a treat such as I never expected to enjoy again in this world.
You made me forget I knew anything about plays or was seeing one. You
carried me off with you to Arden."

"Did you really like the play?" begged Tony, shining-eyed at the praise
of the great man.