She had been seated about half an hour, when she chanced, upon looking back, to see someone whose face was familiar. She looked toward the front, and then, after a few minutes, in which she tried to recall where it was she had seen it before, she turned her head slowly, and looked again. Behind her, and just seating themselves, were not only three women belonging to Wilson Jacobs' church, and with whom she was well acquainted--they had been her best friends, and had admired her playing and singing--but in their midst, sat Constance herself. CHAPTER ELEVEN "_My Wife--Sick--HELL!_" It was the day before New Years, and the city was in the grip of a severe blizzard that has swept down from the northwest, and had driven the people from the streets and into their homes, where they stayed closely shut in. From her little room, Mildred Latham peeped out through the small window, and was glad it was an ugly day without; for, being so, she did not feel as lonesome, and so desirous of going forth, as she had the few days previous; or, since Xmas day. She would never forget the moments she went through, wondering how she would extricate herself, when her friends entered the show and seated themselves behind her. She had sat with her heart beating a tattoo against her ribs, and hardly dared to breathe. The play was a deep one that flashed upon the screen, but her attention had wandered. She was trying, with all her senses, to think of some way out, and the way would have to come quickly, for if not, at the best, it would be only a question of minutes, possibly seconds, before one of the trio saw and recognized her. She was almost choking when there was a noise in the rear. All eyes turned quickly, and then there was a snapping of films, or something; but, whatever it was, the place was dark in a moment. Now was her chance, she thought, as the theater was suddenly plunged into darkness. She arose. Could she make it? In a flash the lights might be on. "Great God!" she trembled. "Suppose they should be turned on!" And with this fear gripping her heart until the perspiration started, she struggled toward the door. She stepped on many toes, while growls and complaints came from the lips of the owners, but she felt her way resolutely forward and toward the aisle. It seemed like an age before her feet found it. Through the place now, matches were flashing. She glanced for a brief second in the direction of those from whom she was fleeing, and, as she did so, someone struck a match. In that moment, the faces of the four came full into view. "Oh, my God!" she cried inaudibly, "they are looking straight at me." But before the flare had died, she breathed a sigh of relief, for, at that moment the lights came on, and they were looking toward the screen. She passed quietly out, and, when once outside, hurried in the direction of her room. They had not seen her. * * * * *