"Why, they're going behind the scenes," said Priscilla, in surprise. Still more surprised was she when Lucian, raising the curtain, beckoned to Mrs. Stinton. The latter, impressed by the young man's appearance, went behind the curtain, and Mr. Smithkins, anxious to understand what was going on, followed her. Thus Angelina, to her own great satisfaction, was left in possession of the stage. When Mr. Smithkins, a little later, appeared before the audience, he had the pleasure to announce, as he phrased it, that Mrs. Stinton's demands had been paid in full by a friend of the talented Miss Rosa, and that the performance would go on as advertised. In promising this, however, Mr. Smithkins went a little too far. The cold hall, the low-necked gown, the long wait in which the young monologuist had heroically concealed her anxiety, all proved a great strain for Angelina. Although she began bravely enough with what she considered the gem of the repertoire, the monologue was given quite tamely, and though she continued it to the end she was evidently glad to stop. It was at this point that Mr. Smithkins showed himself of especial service, as he seated himself at the cracked piano. There he pounded out a number of popular airs to the great delight of the audience, and received far greater applause than poor Angelina. Nevertheless, when Angelina appeared for the second time, there fell at her feet a large bouquet of carnations, for which she bowed her acknowledgments several times. It was all very pathetic as well as absurd. The dimly-lit, cold hall, the empty seats, the little figure bowing on the platform. Martine, always ready to see the amusing side of things, began to laugh. The rest of her party, even the considerate Priscilla, echoed the laugh. Then it spread to the front seats, and when Angelina was in the midst of her second selection, one in which she meant to move her audience to tears, all she could hear was one prolonged giggle. Poor Angelina! This laughter was the last straw. Still holding the flowers and the fan, she threw one angry glance toward the house, and then turning her back on friend and foe alike fled behind the curtain. "There, Martine, you've done it. It was your giggling that set them off. You ought to go behind and console her." Lucian seemed in earnest. "It's half-past nine." Robert looked at his watch. "Then we ought to start for home. We are so far away." There was nervousness in Priscilla's tone. Martine had made no effort to go to Angelina. "How is the prima donna to get to town?" asked Lucian. "Are you going to look after her, Martine?" "Oh, no, her brother John is here. He is that tall, good-looking youth, standing near the door. She can depend on him." "Then we may start," continued Lucian, "even if the show isn't wholly over. We cannot wait for further instalments." "We've had more than the value of our money," added Robert. "Mrs. Stinton's performance alone was worth the price."