Clifford thoughtlessly threw it open, and a woman in evening dress, very decolletée, swept by him into the box, with a waft of sickly scented air. Yvonne leaned heavily on Gethryn’s shoulder; the woman stopped in front of them. “Ah! here you are, then!” Yvonne’s face was ghastly. “Nina,” she whispered, “why did you come?” “Because I wanted to make you a little surprise,” sneered the woman; “a pleasant little surprise. We love each other enough, I hope.” She stamped her foot. “Go,” said Yvonne, looking half dead. “Go!” mimicked the other. “But certainly! Only first you must introduce me to these gentlemen who are so kind to you.” “You will leave the box,” said Gethryn, in a low voice, holding open the door. The woman turned on him. She was evidently in a prostitute’s tantrum of malicious deviltry. Presently she would begin to lash herself into a wild rage. “Ah! this is the one!” she sneered, and raising her voice, she called, “Mannie, Mannie, come in here, quick!” A sidling step approached from the next box, and the face of Mr Emanuel Pick appeared at the door. “This is the one,” cried the woman, shrilly. “Isn’t he pretty?” Mr Pick looked insolently at Gethryn and opened his mouth, but he did not say anything, for Rex took him by the throat and kicked him headlong into his own box. Then he locked the door, and taking out the key, returned and presented it to the woman. “Follow him!” he said, and quietly, but forcibly, urged her toward the lobby. “Mannie! Mannie!” she shrieked, in a voice choked by rage and dissipation, “come and kill him! He’s insulting me!” Getting no response, she began to pour forth shriek upon shriek, mingled with oaths and ravings. “I shall speak to my sister! Who dares prevent me from speaking to my sister! You—” she glared at Yvonne and ground her teeth. “You, the good one. You! the mother’s pet! Ran away from home! Took up with an English hog!” Yvonne sprang to her feet again. “Leave the box,” she gasped. “Ha! ha! Mais oui! leave the box! and let her dance while her mother lies dying!” Yvonne gave a cry. “Ah! Ah!” said her sister, suddenly speaking very slowly, nodding at every word. “Ah! Ah! go back to your room and see what is there—in the room of your lover—the little letter from Vernon. She wants you. She wants _you._ That is because you are so good. She does not want me. No, it is you who must come to see her die. I—I dance at the Carnival!” Then, suddenly turning on Gethryn with a devilish grin, “You! tell your mistress her mother is dying!” She laughed hatefully, but preserved her pretense of calm, walked to the door, and as she reached it swung round and made an insulting gesture to Gethryn. “You! I will remember you!” The door slammed and a key rattled in the next box.