Inside the red baize doors Sybil was amazed to find almost perfect silence. The auditorium, being in the very middle of the building, was cut off from outer sounds. Even the wild shriek of the wind was greatly softened. The darkness seemed at first complete, but the accustomed eye could see a faint grayness at the stage end opposite them. A row of open French boxes extended across the back of the lower circle. Thrall laid his hat in a chair in one of them as he passed, and still leading Sybil, said, in a cheerful, matter-of-course tone, intended to quiet any possible uneasiness of mind: "This way, Miss Lawton! Don't be afraid, there are no steps. The register is right in this corner, and there is at least enough heat on to dry your damp clothing. It would be a pretty serious thing, my young lady, for you to catch cold at this late hour. There, you can feel a little hot air, can't you?" The building now fairly trembled under the force of the gale, and Thrall, with a tightening of his fingers on hers, asked, reproachfully: "In God's name, child, what induced you to face a storm like this? Tell me." But in that warm, dark silence words would not come easily. She murmured something about "god-mamma's needing Margaret's services," paused, added a confused assurance that her "stage shoes had proved satisfactory," and became mute. The empty auditorium was vast, the white linen hangings, draping boxes and dress-circle, were mysterious as the swaying mosses of a Southern swamp. A sense of isolation came upon her, of distance from the world. She did not seem to think consecutively, but in broken, fragmentary, foolish bits. She wondered why Mr. Thrall was so silent. Was it because--. She wondered if her dress was drying all around evenly--if her boots would spoil from the heat--her mother had thought them expensive, and--and how many nerves and pulses did one girl carry about with her? And why need they all quiver and beat at the same time? She drew her hand gently from Thrall's, but he took up the other that was still in a wet and clammy glove. Silently, deftly unbuttoning and peeling it off, he softly chafed the little member. Sybil drew a long, slow breath--what was it that troubled her? The darkness seemed to hide something--secret, sweet! A strange, evanescent perfume seemed to have been left out there by beauty, wealth, and fashion! In the mingling odors of rice-powder, orris, violet, and fine tobacco in the close warm air there was a sensuous suggestion of eyes and smiles, of whispers and pressed hands! The potent perfume of human love was all about her! She moved restlessly. "I--the heat! my head!" she whispered, and drew away from him. He put his foot out and closed the register. "I--I must go now," she slowly added, when there came a sound--a steady, loud sort of even roar, and Thrall knew a very deluge of icy rain must be descending upon the city to be heard so plainly there.