With a frightened cry, Constance dashed past her and up the stairs. Mignon laughed aloud as she watched the vanishing figure. "That settles her," she muttered. "Harriet Delaney can sing my part. She has understudied it." Springing into sudden action she ran to her dressing room, eluding a collision with the feminine portion of the chorus who were scurrying for the stage in obedience to a gong that summoned them to the wings. Reaching to a hook in the wall, from which depended her several costumes, hung over one another, she took from under them an almost exact copy of the gown Constance Stevens was wearing in the first act and held it up with a murmur of satisfaction. Stripping off the gown she wore she hastily donned this other costume. Then she sat down to await what she believed would happen. But while Mignon busied herself with her own affairs, Constance was making a hurried search for Laurie Armitage. Unluckily, he had gone, for the moment, to the front of the house. Professor Harmon, too, was not in sight. He also had gone to the front to take his place in the orchestra pit. What could she do? The performance was about to begin. To leave the theatre on a search for Charlie meant disaster to Laurie's operetta. To leave Charlie to wander about the streets alone was even more terrifying. She flitted past the waiting choristers, drawn up for action, without a word of explanation. Marjorie Dean caught one look at her friend's terrified face. It was enough to convince her that something unusual had happened. Slipping out of her place in the line she followed Constance, who was making directly for the stage door. Marjorie saw her fling it open and glance wildly into the night. She ran toward Connie, calling out, "What is the matter?" As the question crossed her lips both girls saw a familiar girlish figure, strangely burdened, running toward them as fast as the weight she carried would permit her to run. With a cry which rang in Marjorie's ears for days afterwards Constance darted forward. She wrapped the girl and her burden in a tumultuous embrace, laughing and crying in the same breath. "The cross girl got Charlie, then she runned away and Mary comed and found him. Charlie's goin' to the the'tre to play in the band. Mary said so." He wriggled from the tangle of encircling arms to the stone walk. "Hello, Marj'ry," he greeted genially. Marjorie turned from the marvelous sight of the two she loved best in each other's arms. It was too wonderful for belief. Tardy remembrance caused her to utter a dismayed, "You'll be late, Connie! Hurry in. Mary and I will take care of Charlie. It doesn't matter if I do miss the opening number." With a swift glance at Mary that contained untold gratitude, Constance faltered, "I--love--you--Mary, for taking care of Charlie! I'll see you again as soon as I can. Good-bye!" She was gone in a flash, leaving Mary and Marjorie to face each other with full hearts.