"She's not used to it, you see," said the young woman,
knowingly; "she don't know what it means. It's just that much
play to her."

This last was said with a questioning glance at Van
Bibber, in whom she still feared to find the disguised agent
of a Children's Aid Society. Van Bibber only nodded in reply,
and did not answer her, because he found he could not very
well, for he was looking a long way ahead at what the future
was to bring to the confiding little being at his side, and
thinking of the evil knowledge and temptations that would mar
the beauty of her quaintly sweet face, and its strange mark of
gentleness and refinement. Outside he could hear his friend
Lester shouting the refrain of his new topical song, and the
laughter and the hand-clapping came in through the wings and
open door, broken but tumultuous.

"Does she come of professional people?" Van Bibber asked,
dropping into the vernacular. He spoke softly, not so much
that he might not disturb the child, but that she might not
understand what he said.

"Yes," the woman answered, shortly, and bent her head to
smooth out the child's stage dress across her knees.

Van Bibber touched the little girl's head with his hand
and found that she was asleep, and so let his hand rest there,
with the curls between his fingers. "Are--are you her
mother?" he asked, with a slight inclination of his head. He