"You are really perfect, Althea. Isn't she lovely, Jerry?" Mrs. Brendon responded. Althea looked into Jerry's eyes, and blushed. "Will I do?" she asked him. "You are very beautiful!" he answered feelingly. Jane heard it all, remembered their names. She suspected that Jerry's admission made the whole evening a success for Althea Morton. It interested Jane, and amused her a little, to see his power over women. "Whom did you get for Salome?" Althea asked him. "Oh, I want you to meet her. She looks great." He turned to find Jane almost beside them. He had not realized how near to them she sat. "Here you are! Mrs. Brendon, this is Miss Jane Judd. Miss Morton, Miss Judd. If Miss Judd had not come to our rescue I do not know what we would have done." The women bowed to each other, and Mrs. Brendon frankly inspected Jane. "Very good of you, I'm sure. You look charming." "Thank you." "What dance do you do?" Miss Morton inquired. "Mr. Paxton has cut the dance." "How could he? Why, that was the only thing to the part." "Unfortunately, I do not dance." "Oh, everybody dances now. You could have faked it. Do you hear that, Mrs. Brendon, she isn't going to do any dance," Miss Morton said, turning away to talk to Mrs. Brendon. Jane felt, what they intended her to feel, that she was not of them, however kind she had been in coming to the rescue. Jerry came up to them again. "I must carry Miss Judd off to look at the stage," he said, leading Jane away. "Doesn't Jerry look like a god?" said Mrs. Brendon, watching him. Althea nodded. "Are you frightened, Miss Judd?" Jerry asked. "No." Jane looked through the curtains at the great hall beyond and exclaimed with pleasure. "Like it?" "It's splendid." "You can gauge the length of your walk. The music will follow you, until you're off." "I understand." The music began at that moment, and Jerry hurried away. Herod and his Queen descended to their thrones, amid great applause. The first two tableaux formed, appeared, descended. Jerry was everywhere. He came up beside Jane. "I go next, then you come. There is the head. The platter is not heavy at all. Go out below the throne, nearest audience." "All right." His music sounded, so he sprang into his picture. He was greeted with prolonged applause. Jane caught her breath in short gasps, while she waited for her cue. The violin began a slow, sensuous strain. The stage manager came to her, with her props. "Now, Miss Salome," he said. She picked up the head. "Here, this goes, too." "No, I can't use that. I want just the head," she answered, and stepped into the oval, the gory head held high above her in both hands. She stood a second, while the applause burst, then she slowly turned to them, held the grisly head against her breast, and slunk down the stairs, panther-like, her hand caressing the dead face.