“Behold Mr. Klein!” cried the juvenile man, making an exaggerated bow. “Our lowly but none the less faithful butler.” Klein was introduced to all of the party. “This comes near being a surprise party, doesn’t it?” he exclaimed. “Oh, perhaps, you ladies are making a tour of inspection.” “Miss Lydecker has come to invite us all to her house,” said Metcalfe enthusiastically. Klein bowed his personal acknowledgment. Miss Lydecker seemed about the most attractive girl he had ever seen. On the way out of the theater Klein found himself between Miss Lydecker and her friend, Miss Reed. The latter was considerably the younger of the two girls, and appeared to be at that age when the feminine heart is likely to yearn for the glamour of the footlights. “I think you made a splendid butler, Mr. Klein,” she said. “Really, I do. I told Helen so when you first came out. Didn’t I, Helen?” Helen Lydecker nodded. “Oh, it must be wonderful to be on the stage,” Miss Reed went on, gazing around at the bare walls, her eyes shining. “To think of devoting all the years of your life to such a grand profession! Don’t you just love it, Mr. Klein?” “I find it interesting,” Klein answered. Swiftly, like a film upon a screen, he recalled the hours he had spent in chilly offices waiting for engagements that never materialized; recalled, too, the nerve-racking rehearsals, once an engagement had been trapped, and the hundred side parts he had learned in a few days, to say nothing of the weary months of one-night stands. All of this he remembered, but still smiled into the girl’s eager face. Later, when they had reached the stage door and were climbing into several automobiles standing at the curb, Miss Reed leaned close to Klein and whispered: “I’m just dying to be an actress. Don’t you think you could help me to get on the stage?” “I’m afraid any assistance I might offer would be of small benefit,” Klein answered. “Getting a start upon the stage depends on the individual.” In the automobile Klein was separated from Miss Reed—a condition of affairs that brought no regret—and found Helen Lydecker a delightful substitute. From her he learned that these Saturday-night dances at her home were regular throughout the season, and that the members of the Hudson Stock Company were always honored guests. “You see,” she hastened to explain, “I discovered there were no rehearsals on Sunday mornings, so that made it possible for you of the company to remain up a little later on Saturday nights. Oh, I have taken a great interest in theatricals. Father, you know, owns the house in which the company is playing.” “Your friend, Miss Reed, is also interested in the profession, isn’t she?” Klein returned. They both laughed. “Miss Reed imagines she has had a great sorrow in her life,” Miss Lydecker said. “It was a love affair, of course.” “And so she turns to the stage for solace, I suppose.” “That must be it.”