“Well, Carlotta is unusually jealous,” said Graham, with a little chuckle. “I suppose it is because she is suspicious of me. Thinks I may get stuck on the new face, you understand, old fellow.” “Carlotta should know the world by this time, if any woman ever knew it,” said Everett, scowling. “Does she imagine you are going to dance attendance upon her forever?” “If she does, she’ll be mistaken,” said Graham, decidedly, “and as for my new singer, Ila de Parloa, she had better not meddle with her. The girl is as pure and unsophisticated as she is beautiful, and, bad as I am, I admire virtue in a woman.” “The most of us can,” said Everett, slowly; “but, by the way, what is the beautiful Ila’s right name? ’Pon honor, Clayte, I’ll never tell it.” “Her name is Marion Marlowe,” was the manager’s answer, “but, of course, for business purposes, we shall stick to ‘Ila.’” CHAPTER II. A JEALOUS WOMAN. The audience had dispersed and the auditorium of the great Broadway Theatre was enveloped in darkness, but Carlotta, the prima donna of the company, was still pacing back and forth in her disordered dressing-room. She was a handsome woman, of the ripe, sensual type. Her eyes were wide and far apart, like a panther’s; her nose aquiline, and her lips red and voluptuous. As she walked excitedly back and forth she threw her gaudy garments aside, leaving only a trailing skirt of rich white silk and a bodice of lace falling low on her shoulders. “What do you mean by it, anyway? Am I to be eclipsed entirely? Is Carlotta to be put in the background and sneered at by the people, while that little country girl is standing in the calcium?” She turned as she spoke and faced a heavily-built man, who sat on a trunk in one corner, gazing calmly at her frenzy. “Answer me, Clayte Graham!” she almost screamed. “What do you mean by showing so much preference to that country snip?” The man shrugged his shoulders before he answered. He was growing weary of his prima donna’s anger. “I believe I am the manager of this company, Miss Thompson,” he said, calmly, “and so long as I hold that position I shall try to fill it, and one part of my duty is to select my singers.” “And why have you selected her, I should like to know?” cried the woman. “She is as green as grass and her voice has never had an hour of training.” “City people like grass,” was his tantalizing answer, “and as for training—her voice don’t need it.” “Oh, of course you’ll stick up for her! I expected it!” was the furious answer. “But I’ll not put up with it! Do you hear me, Clayte Graham?” Again the man shrugged his shoulders and smiled at her calmly. “What will you do about it, Miss Temper?” he asked, very coolly. “You certainly will not be so foolish as to break your contract?” “Oh, I know what you mean,” cried the woman, more wildly. “I can’t sign another for two years without your permission. No manager would dare engage me. Oh, yes, I understand you.”