A curtain call followed, which Marion took gracefully and modestly. It was the crowning whisp of fuel to Carlotta’s already flaming fire of jealousy. “I tell you, she shall not sing in this company another week,” she said, with choking voice, as Clayton Graham passed her. Graham had gone behind the scenes to congratulate Marion, as well as to present his friend, Howard Everett, who had for a week past been begging for an introduction. “How are you going to prevent it?” asked Graham, carelessly, as both he and Everett, who was a newspaper critic, paused for a moment. “I’ll find a way!” was Carlotta’s answer as, with a disdainful glance at Everett, she flounced out upon the stage. “She hates you almost as badly as she does me,” said Graham, chuckling. “She’d knock our heads together this minute if she dared.” “It isn’t always a critic’s lot to be loved,” said Everett, shrugging his shoulders, “but, then, I am not ambitious to be loved by a creature like Carlotta.” “You prefer a dainty maid like Ila, I suppose,” said Graham, laughing. “‘Signorita de Parloa’ is glorious!” was the critic’s answer, and strangely enough, his words were honest—he felt them as he spoke them. Marion was greatly pleased to make the acquaintance of the critic, for he had been the kindest of them all in his daily reviews. As she stood chatting with him pleasantly, Miss Lindsay came up to her. She looked pale and scared, and her arm was carried painfully. “I thank you for what you did,” she said, in a tremulous voice, “but it would have been better if you hadn’t done it, Ila. I cut myself on purpose—is it possible that you did not guess it?” “Hush!” said Marion, sternly. “Don’t say that, Miss Lindsay. I am glad I was able to help you, dear, but you look sick and weak. Can I do anything more for you?” “No, thank you,” said the girl, and then she blushed furiously and added: “Jack is going home with me. He is sorry, he says. Please don’t tell any one what happened this evening, will you?” “I certainly will not,” said Marion, kissing her. She would have liked to warn the girl about Green, but another look at the wan, white face quickly silenced the desire. “She loves him, and it would kill her if she knew,” she thought. “Oh, why is it that some men are so treacherous to those who love them!” She turned back to Mr. Everett with a saddened heart. The sorrow in this young girl’s face had destroyed Marion’s happiness for the evening. “You are very sympathetic, signorita,” said the critic, as he watched her. “Too much so for my own good,” was the fair girl’s answer. “It was because of my intense sympathy that I was obliged to resign my position as a nurse. I do hope that it will not also ruin my career as a singer.”