"You mean to say that is greasepaint on your shoulders?" he said, rising. He crossed the room, and, although she laughingly expostulated, he bent and kissed them--then lifted her chin and kissed her throat. "Are you angry?" he said mockingly, gazing down into her eyes with an intent, triumphant expression. "You know--very well--I could not be angry--with _you_!" she murmured, lifting them, dewy with tenderness, with fervour, to his. Victor started, and stepped suddenly away. The door was flung open, and a young woman dressed in nurse’s costume rushed in. "Vera, what are you about? You’ll keep the stage waiting! I beg your pardon, I’m sure," she exclaimed. Vera sprang up, and with a glance in a glass and a wild pat of her hair, ran off. The young woman turned to him. "It was a near go that time; but I think she’s saved it," she said, somewhat dryly. "You’re her brother-in-law, or step-brother, or whatever it is, ain’t you? She’s been all on wires to-night because you were in front! She’s a good sort, is Vera! We all cottoned to her when she got the post. But the stage-manager’s got a grudge against her, and that’s why I ran off to get her on in time. He’d have fined her as soon as look at her! You see he’s taken a fancy to her, and she won’t have anything to say to him. I tell her she’s a fool for her pains--he’s a young fellow with plenty of brains, and his people have loads of money. But there! She won’t hear of it! I hope you’re pleased with us, Mr., Mr.--a’Court? You are? That’s a good job!" Victor Mercier left Vera’s colleague a few minutes later with the understanding that he would wait for his "sister" at the stage door. When Vera came out into the dark alley he met her, drew her hand under his arm, and marching her out into the thoroughfare hailed the first hansom he met. "Get in!" he commanded. Then he gave the address to the driver. CHAPTER IX The hansom drove swiftly along through the muddy streets. Victor sat silently by his companion. His nature was strung up to its fullest tension. First had come the exasperating blow--the discovery that his jealous surmise had been right--the wife he called wife because of those few words spoken in a registrar’s office, alone, loved another man--perhaps was even secretly his. Then had come the surprise of Vera’s beauty--grace--talent--and the conviction of her great passion for himself. "I will secure her," he grimly told himself. "I must tell her--something! To know there is ’another woman’ will make her irrevocably my own." It was thus he correctly or incorrectly judged womankind.