“This young man is taking responsibilities upon his shoulders,” observed one newspaper critic to another. The other smiled sardonically. Already he was tasting in anticipation several phrases he proposed to level against Mr. Wynne Rendall. “But who is he anyway?” seemed to arise from the general buzz of voices. From where she sat Eve could see the profile of Lane Quiltan. His box seemed very full—a circumstance which made her glad, for Wynne had refused to offer her a seat there. “He won’t want to be bothered with introductions on a first night; besides, there are lots of people who must be invited. I want you to be in the body of the house and feel the pulse of the audience.” So it came about she was alone with none to talk with, and none to admire the pretty frock she wore. It had not occurred to Wynne she would want a dress for his first night—she had not expected that it would; but, nevertheless, she was beautifully clad. The possession of the evening dress and a wrap marked her first deliberate step toward rebellion. She had ordered it from a first-class West End dress-maker. “Send the bill to Mr. Wynne Rendall at the Vandyke Theatre,” she had said. Never before had Eve possessed so sweet a frock, and the touch of it sent a pleasurable thrill through her body. When she had finished dressing, every vestige of the drab, houseworking little figure had been transformed into a simple expression of fragile and delicious womanhood. Very gloriously she had felt this to be so as she stood before the mirror waiting for Wynne to return and take her to the theatre. But he did not return. A messenger boy came instead, with a scribbled note asking for his “dress things, as I shan’t have time to get back before the play begins.” Thus Eve was denied even a moment to wish him well, and took her stall unnoticed and alone. As she looked at Lane Quiltan’s profile she wondered how he felt at being forced to take a second place to Wynne in every point of prominence. For some reason she conceived that he would not be troubled over-much. There was a repose and stability in his looks which suggested a mental balance not easily disturbed by small-weight issues. At long range she liked and felt the wish to know him better. “Steadfast, substantial,” she reasoned; “very unlike Wynne. He is hoping for the success of the play, not of himself. He won’t mind sacrificing himself to get it.” It came to her that both she and Quiltan were contributing their share toward the making of Wynne Rendall, and both she and Quiltan were being left a little behind in the doing of it.