would pay a stage-manager the salary I pay, and then do all his
work for him!"

"Mr. Potter, if you'll tell me what's the matter," Packer
quavered; "if you'll only tell me--"

"The understudy, idiot! Where is the understudy to read Miss
Lyston's part? You haven't got one! I knew it! I told you last
week to engage an understudy for the women's parts, and you
haven't done it. I knew it, I knew it! God help me, I knew it!"

"But I did, sir. I've got her here."

Packer ran to the back of the stage, shouting loudly: "Miss-oh,
Miss--I forget-your-name! Understudy! Miss--"

"I'm here!"

It was an odd, slender voice that spoke, just behind Talbot
Potter, and he turned to stare at a little figure in black--she
had come so quietly out of the shadows of the scenery into Miss
Lyston's place that no one had noticed. She was indefinite of
outline still, in the sparse light of that cavernous place; and,
with a veil lifted just to the level of her brows, under a
shadowing black hat, not much was to be clearly discerned of her
except that she was small and pale and had bright eyes. But even
the two words she spoke proved the peculiar quality of her
voice: it was like the tremolo of a zither string; and at the
sound of it the actors on each side of her instinctively moved a
step back for a better view of her, while in his lurking place