As Hymen sang her parting song, Patsy scanned the sea of faces beyond the bank of juniper which served instead of footlights. Already she had picked out Travis, Janet Payne and her party, the people from Quality House, who still gaped at her, unbelieving, and young Peterson-Jones, looking more melancholy, myopic, and poetical than before. But the one face she hoped to find was missing, even among the stragglers at the back; and it took all her self-control to keep disappointment and an odd, hurt feeling out of her voice as she gave the epilogue. On the way to her tent--a half-score of them were used as dressing-rooms behind the stage--George Travis overtook her. "It's all right, girl. You've made a bigger hit than even I expected. I'm going to try you out in--" Patsy cut him short. "You sat at the back. Did you see a vagabond lad hanging around anywhere--with a limp to him?" The manager looked at her with amused toleration. "Does a mere man happen to be of more consequence this minute than your success? Oh, I say, that's not like you, Irish Patsy!" She crimsoned, and the manager teased no more. "We play Greyfriars to-morrow and back to Brambleside the day after; and I've made up my mind to try you out there in Juliet. If you can handle tragedy as you can comedy, I'll star you next winter on Broadway. Oh, your future's very nearly made, you lucky girl!" But Patsy, slipping into her tent, hardly heard the last. If they played Greyfriars the next day, that meant they would leave Arden on the first train after they were packed; and that meant she was passing once and for all beyond tramping reach of the tinker. There was a dull ache at her heart which she attempted neither to explain nor to analyze; it was there--that was enough. With impatient fingers she tore off Rosalind's wedding finery and attacked her make-up. Then she lingered over her dressing, hoping to avoid the rest of the company and any congratulatory friends who might happen to be browsing around. She wanted to be alone with her memories--to have and to hold them a little longer before they should grow too dim and far away. A hand scratched at the flap of her tent and Janet Payne's voice broke into her reverie: "Can't we see you, please, for just a moment? We'll solemnly promise not to stay long." Patsy hooked back the flap and forced the semblance of a welcome into her greeting. "It was simply ripping!" chorused the Dempsy Carters, each gripping a hand. Janet Payne looked down upon her with adoring eyes. "It was the best, the very best I've ever seen you or any one else play it. For the first time Rosalind seemed a real girl." But it was the voice of Gregory Jessup that carried above the others: "Have you heard, Miss O'Connell? Burgeman died last night, and Billy was with him. He's come home." "Faith! then there's some virtue in signs, after all."