That night he avoided the green-room, though he could not forego the play; but the next night he determined to stay at home altogether. Accordingly, at five o'clock, the astounded box-keeper wore a visage of dismay--there was no shilling for him! and Mr. Vane's nightly shilling had assumed the sanctity of salary in his mind. Mr. Vane strolled disconsolate; he strolled by the Thames, he strolled up and down the Strand; and, finally, having often admired the wisdom of moths in their gradual approach to what is not good for them, he strolled into the green-room, Covent Garden, and sat down. When there he did not feel happy. Besides, she had always been cold to him, and had given no sign of desiring his acquaintance, still less of recognition. Mr. Vane had often seen a weathercock at work, and he had heard a woman compared to it; but he had never realized the simplicity, beauty and justice of the simile. He was therefore surprised, as well as thrilled, when Mrs. Woffington, so cool, ceremonious and distant hitherto, walked up to him in the green-room with a face quite wreathed in smiles, and, without preliminary, thanked him for all the beautiful flowers he had sent her. “What, Mrs. Woffington--what, you recognize me?” “Of course, and have been foolish enough to feel quite supported by the thought I had at least one friend in the house. But,” said she, looking down, “now you must not be angry; here are some stones that have fallen somehow among the flowers. I am going to give you them back, because I value flowers, so I cannot have them mixed with anything else; but don't ask me for a flower back,” added she, seeing the color mount on his face, “for I would not give one of them to you, or anybody.” Imagine the effect of this on a romantic disposition like Mr. Vane's. He told her how glad he was that she could distinguish his features amid the crowd of her admirers; he confessed he had been mortified when he found himself, as he thought, entirely a stranger to her. She interrupted him. “Do you know your friend Sir Charles Pomander? No! I am almost sure you do; well, he is a man I do not like. He is deceitful, besides he is a wicked man. There, to be plain with you, he was watching me all that night, the first time you came here, and, because I saw he was watching me I would not know who you were, nor anything about you.” “But you looked as if you had never seen me before.” “Of course I did, when I had made up my mind to,” said the actress, naively. “Sir Charles has left London for a fortnight, so, if he is the only obstacle, I hope you will know me every night.” “Why, you sent me no flowers yesterday or to-day.” “But I will to-morrow.” “Then I am sure I shall know your face again; good-by. Won't you see me in the last act, and tell me how ill I do it?” “Oh, yes!” and he hurried to his box, and so the actress secured one pair of hands for her last act.