old Tinker let his dry lips open a little, which was as near as
he ever came, nowadays, to a look of interest. He had noted that
this voice, sweet as rain, and vibrant, but not loud, was the
ordinary speaking voice of the understudy, and that her "I'm
here," had sounded, soft and clear, across the deep orchestra to
the last row in the house.

"Of course!" Packer cried. "There she is, Mr. Potter! There's
Miss--Miss--"

"Is her name 'Missmiss'?" the star demanded bitterly.

"No sir. I've forgotten it, just this moment, Mr. Potter, but
I've got it. I've got it right here." He began frantically to
turn out the contents of his pockets. "It's in my memorandum
book, if I could only find--"

"The devil, the devil!" shouted Potter. "A fine understudy
you've got for us! She sees me standing here like--like a
statue--delaying the whole rehearsal, while we wait for you to
find her name, and she won't open her lips!" He swept the air
with a furious gesture, and a subtle faint relief became
manifest throughout the company at this token that the newcomer
was indeed to fill Miss Lyston's place for one rehearsal at
least. "Why don't you tell us your name?" he roared.

"I understood," said the zither-sweet voice, "that I was never
to speak to you unless you directly asked me a question. My--"

"My soul! Have you got a name?"