"Yes. I've made up my mind to that. That's what I've got to do. He mustn't find me. We can't meet here in this life. That's certain. There are things that come between, things like bars." She made a strange gesture as of a prisoner running his fingers across the barred window of a cell. "Thank you for warning me. Thank you for telling me what to do." She smiled faintly. "I think he will know me, anyway," she said, "but I won't know him. Never! Never!" That night the theater was late in emptying itself. Jane West had acted with especial brilliance and she was called out again and again. When she came to her dressing-room she was flushed and breathless. She did not change her costume, but drew her fur coat on over the green evening dress she had worn in the last scene. Then she stood before her mirror, looking herself over carefully, critically. Now that the paint was washed off, and the flush of excitement faded, she looked haggard and white. Her face was very thin, its beautiful bones--long sweep of jaw, wide brow, straight, short nose--sharply accentuated. The round throat rising against the fur collar looked unnaturally white and long. She sat down before her dressing-table and deliberately painted her cheeks and lips. She even altered the outlines of her mouth, giving it a pursed and doll-like expression, so that her eyes appeared enormous and her nose a little pinched. Then she drew a lock of waved hair down across the middle of her forehead, pressed another at each side close to the corners of her eyes. This took from the unusual breadth of brow and gave her a much more ordinary look. A coat of powder, heavily applied, more nearly produced the effect of a pink-and-white, glassy-eyed doll-baby for which she was trying. Afterwards she turned and smiled doubtfully at the astonished dresser. "Good gracious, Miss West! You don't look like yourself at all!" "Good!" She said good-night and went rapidly down the draughty passages and the concrete stairs. Jasper was standing inside the outer door and applauded her. "Well done. If it weren't for your pose and walk, my dear, I should hardly have known you myself." Joan stood beside him, holding her furs close, breathing fast through the parted, painted lips. "Is he here, do you know?" "Yes. He's been waiting. I told him you might be late. Now, keep your head. Everything depends upon that. Can you do it?" "Oh, yes. Is the car there? I won't have to stop?" "Not an instant. But give him a good looking-over so that he'll be sure, and don't change the expression of your eyes. Feel, make yourself feel _inside_, that he's a stranger. You know what I mean. Good-night, my dear. Good luck. I'll call you up as soon as you get home--that is, after I've seen your pursuer safely back to his rooms." But this last sentence was addressed to himself.