"No," he said incoherently. "I had a daughter once. But she is much older than this child. She must be nearly forty by now, and to think I haven't seen her face for twenty-two years. I shouldn't even know her if I should see her. I couldn't make shipwreck of her life, you know--shipwreck of one you love best in the world!" "Oh, come ahead!" called Birdie from below. "He don't know what he's babbling about." But the old man's wrinkled hand still clung to Nance's arm. "Don't go with them!" he implored. "I know. I've seen. Ten years playing for girls to dance. Stage no place for you, Nancy. Come home with me, child. Come!" He was trembling with earnestness and his voice quavered. "Let go of her arm, you old fool!" cried Mac, angrily. "It's none of your business where she goes!" "Nor of yours, either!" Nance flashed back instantly. "You keep your hands off him!" Then she turned to Mr. Demry and patiently tried to explain that she was spending the night with Birdie Smelts; he remembered Birdie--used to live across the hall from him? She was coming home in the morning. She would explain everything to Mrs. Snawdor. She promised she would. Mr. Demry, partly reassured, relaxed his grasp. "Who is this young man, Nancy?" he asked childishly. "Tell me his name." "It's Mr. Mac Clarke," said Nance, despite Birdie's warning glance. A swift look of intelligence swept the dazed old face; then terror gathered in his eyes. "Not--not--Macpherson Clarke?" he stammered; then he sat down in the doorway. "O my God!" he sobbed, dropping his head in his hands. "He won't go home 'til morning!" hummed Monte, catching Birdie by the arm and skipping down the passage. Nance stood for a moment looking down at the maudlin old figure muttering to himself on the door-step; then she, too, turned and followed the others out into the gay midnight throng. CHAPTER XIX PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT What a radically different place the world seems when one doesn't have to begin the day with an alarm clock! There is a hateful authority in its brassy, peremptory summons that puts one on the defensive immediately. To be sure, Nance dreamed she heard it the following day at noon, and sprang up in bed with the terrifying conviction that she would be late at Miss Bobinet's. But when she saw where she was, she gave a sigh of relief, and snuggled down against Birdie's warm shoulder, and tried to realize what had happened to her. The big theater, the rows of smiling faces, the clapping hands--surely they must have all been a dream? And Mr. Demry? Why had he sat on the steps and cried into a big starchy handkerchief? Oh, yes; she remembered now, but she didn't like to remember, so she hurried on.