have leaped out of the box to enfold her. He forgot the need of
circumspectness which his married state enforced. He almost
forgot that he had with him in the box those who knew him. By
the Lord, he would have that lovely girl if it took his all. He
would act at once. This should be the end of Drouet, and don't
you forget it. He would not wait another day. The drummer
should not have her.

He was so excited that he could not stay in the box. He went
into the lobby, and then into the street, thinking. Drouet did
not return. In a few minutes the last act was over, and he was
crazy to have Carrie alone. He cursed the luck that could keep
him smiling, bowing, shamming, when he wanted to tell her that he
loved her, when he wanted to whisper to her alone. He groaned as
he saw that his hopes were futile. He must even take her to
supper, shamming. He finally went about and asked how she was
getting along. The actors were all dressing, talking, hurrying
about. Drouet was palavering himself with the looseness of
excitement and passion. The manager mastered himself only by a
great effort.

"We are going to supper, of course," he said, with a voice that
was a mockery of his heart.

"Oh, yes," said Carrie, smiling.

The little actress was in fine feather. She was realising now
what it was to be petted. For once she was the admired, the
sought-for. The independence of success now made its first faint
showing. With the tables turned, she was looking down, rather