“‘Show her in, I’ll see her now.’ I had my back to him, but I could feel his virtuous indignation. After all, rules are rules. “‘Now, sir?’ he echoed. “‘Now; at once.’ “He went out, and I heard him go up the steps. “‘Mr. Trayne will see you. Come this way.’ “And then the door opened again, and I turned to face the woman. She was young—quite young, dressed in a kind of cheap suburban frock. Her shoes had been good ones—once, now—well, however skilfully a patch is put on it is still a patch. Her gloves showed traces of much needle and cotton; the little bag she carried was rubbed and frayed. And over the cheap suburban frock she had on a coat which was worn and threadbare. “‘It was good of you to see me, Mr. Trayne.’ “She was nervous and her voice shook a little, but she faced me quite steadily. “‘It’s a very unusual thing for me to do,’ I said. ‘But I saw you at the top of the stairs, and . . .’ “‘I know it’s unusual,’ she interrupted. ‘The man outside there told me your rule. But believe me’—she was talking with more assurance now—‘my reason for coming to see you is very unusual also.’ “I pulled up a chair for her. ‘What is your reason?’ I asked. “She took a deep breath and began fumbling with her handkerchief. “‘I know you will think me mad,’ she began, ‘but I don’t want to tell you my reason now. I want to wait until after the play is over, and I know you go on at once in the fourth act.’ “‘You’ve seen the play, then?’ I remarked. “‘I’ve seen the play,’ was her somewhat astonishing answer, ‘every night since the first.’ “‘Every night!’ I stared at her in surprise. ‘But . . .’ “I must have glanced at her clothes or something and she saw what was in my mind. “‘I suppose you think that I hardly look as if I could afford such luxuries,’ she smiled faintly. ‘I’ve only seen it from the gallery and pit, you know. And even that has meant that I’ve had to go without lunch. But—you see—it was necessary for me to see it: I had to. It was part of my plan—a necessary part.’ “‘I don’t want to seem dense,’ I said gently, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. How can seeing my play thirty odd times be a necessary part of your plan?’ “‘That’s what I don’t want to tell you now,’ she repeated, and once more her hands began twisting nervously. ‘I want to wait till afterwards, when perhaps you’ll—of your kindness—do as I ask you. Oh! Mr. Trayne—for God’s sake, don’t fail me!’ She leant forward beseechingly in her chair. “‘My dear child,’ I answered quietly—I don’t think she can have been much more than twenty, ‘you haven’t told me yet what you want me to do.’ “‘I want you to come to a house in Kensington with me,’ she said steadily.” Once again the Actor paused, and stared at the fire. Then he gave a short laugh.