She was unaware of the audience until she reached the lowest step, then she swept them once in a swift insolent glance, held high the head, laughed, ran to the throne, saluted the King and Queen, then pressing her lips to the dead lips, she ran off. The applause was deafening, continuous. In the wings they tried to get her to go out and bow, but she refused. The sound grew more imperious, but she was firm. Mr. Paxton had not told her to take any encores. The applause intended for her nearly spoiled the Naomi tableau, a fact which Miss Morton did not forgive. The show went on. Jane sat back with a sigh. Presently she saw Jerry come into the ante-room to look for her. He hurried over, when he spied her, and seized her hands. "You played a nice trick on me! You were the best yet. Why didn't you come out and take your curtain?" "You didn't tell me to." "Oh, Jane, Jane, you bluffer!" "May I go home now, or do you want me later?" "I should say I do want you later. I'll give you the sign for your entrance." He left her and she sat there a long time watching the others. One or two "fellow artists" congratulated her upon her success, but most of them just looked at her with interest. Finally Jerry came again. "All right now. The dancers are just beginning. Slip around them somehow, get to the throne steps, and sit there watching them, until the show is over. Wait; now this is a good time." She started on. At sight of her there was great applause. She wove in and out among the dancers, watching them superciliously, seeming at moments to be a part of the dance. She was every inch royal, and wicked. Before the throne she bowed low, then threw herself, full length, before it, her chin on her palm, her elbow on the throne step. While she languidly watched the dancing, the audience watched her. "I'll be damned," said Jerry, softly, watching her, too. When the last tableau was finished, Herod and his women left the throne, to join the audience. Everybody in the crowd which surrounded them spoke to Jane, congratulating her upon her success. Mrs. Brendon, seeing this, presented clamouring admirers, always mentioning her as a great friend of Mr. Jerry Paxton's. On all sides they declared it to be the most successful pageant of the season. "Who _is_ Mr. Jerry Paxton?" people demanded. "Don't you know him? Why, he's a genius! He's a portrait painter, one of the coming ones. I have commissioned him to paint me, in this costume he designed for me," was Mrs. Brendon's unchanging answer. Jane noticed that it always made an impression. "Why, Mr. Christiansen, what are you doing here?" Mrs. Brendon demanded of a giant of a man who approached them. "I came to see what you vandals would do to the prophets," he replied. "We've done very well by them, don't you think?" she laughingly inquired. "Some of them seemed to me a trifle decadent, I confess." "The Old Testament is decadent, if you come to that."