"Going like a house afire," he said, as the curtain fell.

Beside his robust physique, Gregory, the publicity man, sank into
insignificance. Even his pale spats, at which Bassett had shot a
contemptuous glance, his highly expensive tailoring, failed to make
him appear more than he was, a little, dapper man, with a pale cold
eye and a rather too frequent smile. "She's the best there is," was
his comment. He hesitated, then added: "She's my sister, you know.
Naturally, for business reasons, I don't publish the relationship."

Bassett glanced at him.

"That so? Well, I'm glad she decided to come back. She's too good
to bury."

But if he expected Gregory to follow the lead he was disappointed.
His eyes, blank and expressionless, were wandering over the house
as the lights flashed up.

"This whole tour has been a triumph. She's the best there is,"
Gregory repeated, "and they know it."

"Does she know it?" Bassett inquired.

"She doesn't throw any temperament, if that's what you mean. She--"

He checked himself suddenly, and stood, clutching the railing, bent
forward and staring into the audience. Bassett watched him,
considerably surprised. It took a great deal to startle a theatrical
publicity man, yet here was one who looked as though he had seen a