Stivers, thin of figure, in black gown and white apron--her flat, hard chest covered with a sort of breastplate of neatly quilted-in needles of all numbers and pins of all sizes--had sidled into an entrance that commanded a view of the stranger's box, a most unusual thing for her to do, who rarely left the dressing-room save to carry Juliet's train as far as the stage and at once return. But there she was and Jim Roberts, dressed and ready for the Apothecary, stood shaking like a leaf beside her, and as she approached she heard him say: "I knew it! I knew she had some devil's trick in mind! That's Manice's work over there, bringing her back from London! Oh----" He stopped at sight of Sybil, and moved away a bit. She was just opening her lips to send Stivers for Mr. Thrall when a door slammed opposite, and she glanced across. It has been said that Thrall was a man who never forgot appearances, never disregarded the customary, regular social conventions, and now he was doggedly doing "the proper thing" in full view of the admiring public and the observant critic. For in his stage costume he, seemingly taking care to keep well back, was greeting with empressement the chill, flaxen blond woman there, leaning toward her to catch her valued remarks, and doing the agreeably surprised with such inimitable grace that Sybil's pained amazement at the sight wrung from her the question: "Who is that woman in the box?" Stivers slid quietly away. Miss Manice, who had been "in front," came back just then, her mean little face all aglow with satisfaction, and she it was who answered: "That, my dear? Why, that's the Missus." Sybil looked almost stupidly at her. Manice laughed. "Don't you hunderstand low-class Henglish?" she jeered, "or have you really never heard of her before?" "Who is the Missus?" slowly asked the girl. And Manice answered, sharply: "She is Mrs. Stewart Thrall!" It was Jim Roberts who caught Sybil as she fell, and, as he carried her past Manice, he whispered: "I'd like to kill you, you viper!" "Y-e-s?" she sneered, "I suppose your boss is too big game for you to tackle; but he's the party you ought to kill, if you will insist on being so melodramatic." And over in the box Mrs. Thrall, who had seen the fall, remarked, coolly: "There seems to be a commotion over there. Oh, I wouldn't leave the box suddenly if I were you; it might not look well, and you are always so careful of appearances." But Thrall was rushing back to the stage like a madman. CHAPTER XXIV "I WILL NOT DIVORCE YOU"