She came back at the beginning of the fifth act with red eyes and confused smiles, looking very much ashamed. From that moment onward she cried a good deal, but gave no other sign until the green curtain came down at the end, when she said: “It's a wonderful thing! To make people forget it's not true is the most wonderful thing in the world!” Lord Robert, standing behind the curtain at the back of Polly's chair, had been laughing at Glory with his long owlish drawl, and making cynical interjections by way of punctuating her enthusiasm; and now he said, “Would you like to have a nearer view of your wonderful world, Glory?” Glory looked perplexed, and Drake muttered, “Hold your tongue, Robert!” Then, turning to Glory, he said shortly: “He only asked if you would like to go behind the scenes; but I don't think----” Glory uttered a cry of delight. “Like it? Better than anything in the world!” “Then I must take you to a rehearsal somewhere,” said Lord Robert; “and you'll both come to tea at the chambers afterward.” Drake made some show of dissent; but Polly, with her most voluptuous look upward, said it would be perfectly charming, and Glory was in raptures. The girls, by their own choice, went home without escort by the Hammersmith omnibus. They sat on opposite sides and hardly talked at all. Polly was humming idly. “Sigh no more, ladies.” Glory was in a trance. A great, bright, beautiful world had that night swum into her view, and all her heart was yearning for it with vague and blind aspirations. It might be a world of dreams, but it seemed more real than reality, and when the omnibus passed the corner of Piccadilly Circus she forgot to look at the women who were crowding the pavement. The omnibus drew up for them at the door of the hospital, and they took long breaths as they went up the steps. In the corridor to the surgical ward they came upon John Storm. His head was down and his step was long and measured, and he seemed to be trying to pass them in his grave silence; but Glory stopped and spoke, while Polly went on to her cubicle. “You here so late?” she said. He looked steadily into her face and answered, “I was sent for--some one was dying.” “Was it little Johnnie?” “Yes.” There was not a tear now, not a quiver of an eyelid. “I don't think I care for this life,” she said fretfully. “Death is always about you everywhere, and a girl can never go out to enjoy herself but----” “It is true woman's work,” said John hotly, “the truest, noblest work a woman can have in all the world!” “Perhaps,” said Glory, swinging on her heel. “All the same----” “Good-night!” said John, and he turned on his heel also. She looked after him and laughed. Then with a little hard lump at her heart she took herself off to bed. Polly Love, in the next cubicle, was humming as she undressed: Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever.