I got up to go. He'd forgotten me, but he looked up then.

"That was a great suggestion of yours, Olden, to put Lord Gray
on to act himself--great!" His voice shook, he was so angry.

"Well!" I snapped. I wasn't going to let him see that a big man
raging could bluff Nance Olden.

What did he mean? Why--just this: there was Lord Harold Gray, the
real Lord behind the scenes, bringing the Lady who was really
only a chorus girl to the show in his automobile; helping her
dress like a maid; holding her box of jewels as he tagged after
her like a big Newfoundland; smoking his one cigarette solemnly
and admiringly while she was on the stage; poking after her like
a tame bear. He's a funny fellow, that Lord Harold. He's a Tom
Dorgan, with the brains and the graft and--and the brute, too,
Mag, washed out of him; a Tom Dorgan that's been kept dressed in
swagger clothes all his life and living at top-notch--a big,
clean, handsome, stupid, good-natured, overgrown boy.

Yes, I'm coming to it. When I'd seen him go tagging after her
chippy Ladyship behind the scenes long enough, I told Obermuller
one day that it was absurd to send the mock Lady out on the
boards and keep the live Lord hidden behind. He jumped at the
idea, and they rigged up a little act for the two--the Lord and
the Lady. Gray was furious when she heard of it--their making use
of her Lord in such a way--but Lord Harold just swallowed his big
Adam's apple with a gulp or two, and said:

"'Pon honor, it's a blawsted scheme, you know; but I'm jolly