'I have been in the boxes to see you act,' he said, in that gentle winning voice which had made him a favourite among women. To Justina it sounded fresh as a voice from another world. No one in her world spoke like that, in tones so deferential, with accents so pure. 'I am very sorry for it,' said Justina. 'Sorry! but why?' 'Because you must hate me. The audience always do hate me. I feel it in their looks—feel it freezing me directly I go on the stage. "Oh, there _she_ is again!" they say to themselves. "Can't they manage to get through the piece without sending _her_ on?" 'What a curious notion! I thought actresses were conceited people.' 'Yes, when they are favourites.' 'I don't know about the rest of the audience, Miss Elgood,' said James, almost tenderly, 'but I know I did not hate you,—my feelings leaned too much the other way.' Justina blushed through those two dabs of rouge—compliments were so new to her, and a compliment from this elegant stranger was worth all the loud praises of the vulgar herd. She hardly envied Miss Villeroy—the leading lady—whose chokings and sobbings in Mrs. Haller had been applauded to the echo, while the poor countess in her draggle-tailed sky-blue satin had walked on and off unnoticed. 'So this is the way you enjoy the legitimate drama, Mr. Penwyn,' said a sonorous voice—the full rich baritone of Maurice Clissold—and, looking up, James and Justina beheld that gentleman watching them from the doorway. 'I left _you_ asleep,' replied James, abashed by his friend's advent. 'Yes, sneaked off, and left me to grope my way to this abominable den as best I could. I beg your pardon, Miss Elgood, but it really is a den.' 'You can't hate it worse than I do,' said Justina, 'or so badly—I have to sit here every night.' 'Poor child! It's a strange life—and a hard one. Seen from the outside there seems a not unpleasant Bohemian flavour about it—but when one comes behind the scenes the Bohemian flavour appears to be mainly dirt. I've inhaled enough dust and escaped gas within the last ten minutes to last me comfortably for my lifetime. And you breathe this atmosphere for four or five hours every night! Poor child!' James sighed. His benevolent heart longed to rescue the girl from such a life—a girl with pensive violet eyes, fringed by darkest lashes—soft brown hair, so luxuriant that it made a crown of plaits upon the well-shaped head,—altogether a girl whom benevolence would fain benefit. 'Come, Jim,' said Clissold, who had a knack of reading his friend's thoughts, 'you've seen enough of behind the scenes.' 'No, I haven't,' answered James, sturdily, as the countess ran off to act her part in the close of the play. He was wont to be plastic as wax in the hands of his guide, philosopher, and friend, but to-night there glowed a spark of rebellion in his soul. 'I am going to stop to see Mr. Elgood, and to ask him to bring his daughter to supper.' 'Bring his daughter! To visit two young men at a roadside inn?'