Indeed, the delicate loveliness set in the flying powdered curls, crowned with the soft splendour of the feathers, marked, so to speak, by the three notes of black, was a vision worth gazing upon. The sheen of the white satin she had chosen for her robe flung up the ivory of her shoulders and throat. Miss Pounce almost regretted to see the obligatory smear of rouge put on each pale cheek; by which, however, the lily fairness gained something exotic, feverish, that seemed to match very well with the swift passion of her art. “It’ll be such a Lady Teazle as never was,” thought the milliner; and was wondering whether she could yet find a seat for herself in the theatre, when, turning suddenly dark, haunted eyes upon her, Miss Falcon said like a child: “Oh, do let me find you here when I come back, you kind thing!” and, without giving Madame Mirabel’s head woman time to reply, she added: “I know you will,” and whisked back to the dressing-table. Her hand hovered over a closed jewel-case, then, shrugging her shoulders, she drew out a string of pearls and clasped it round her throat. * * * * * It was strange for Pamela presently to sit alone in the little dressing-room and think of the mimic play of emotion, clash of passion and interest that was enthralling so many scores of spectators within a few yards of her; to think, too, of that drama of real life, so sad and shameful, of which she had unexpectedly become a witness. It was contrary to her vivacious nature to sit, unoccupied and in patience, while the world swept on its way, but to-night she had much to engross her thoughts. All she had seen pointed to courses which, to her straight judgment, could not but appear as evil. Yet if ever, thought Pamela Pounce, there was delicacy and purity stamped on a human countenance, if ever noble pride, it was on the face of the young play-actress. “Why did she ask me to remain?” puzzled the girl. “If my Lord Harborough is her protector, as he seems to be, what does she want with a poor, honest milliner? Oh, la! to see her, so beautiful, with them pearls, and to know what it means, I could fair cry!” Miss Falcon’s dresser came rushing in, declaring that there never had been such a success as the new Lady Teazle; that the house had had her out again and again. “And, oh, my goodness, the shouts and claps and nose-gays flying! What a pity Miss had not been in the gallery!” Before Pamela had time to reply Miss Falcon herself, accompanied by a very conspicuous group of admirers, returned to her dressing-room. Her flush outdid the rouge, her eyes flashed. The tips of her taper fingers rested on Lord Harborough’s wrist, and he came in leading her with an air as though her triumph belonged to him. Behind her the sycophants gabbled, “for all the world like father’s geese,” thought Miss Pounce.