That evening, once more in the box he had taken all to himself, he listened to _Mandalay_, carried away with the charm of the music and carried away by the singer. He was in the box nearest the stage and seemed close to her, and he imagined that under her paint he could see her pallor and how thin she was. Nothing, however, in her acting or in her voice revealed the least fatigue. Blair had obtained a card of entrance to the theater, which permitted him to circulate freely behind the scenes, and although as yet the run of his visits had not been clear, this night he had a purpose. Dan stood not far from the corridor that led to Letty Lane’s room, and saw her after her act hurriedly cross the stage, a big white shawl wrapping her slender form closely. She was as thin as a candle. Her woman Higgins followed closely after her, and as they passed Dan, Letty Lane called to him gaily: “Hello, you! What are you hanging around here for?” And Dan returned: “Don’t stand here in the draft. It is beastly cold.” “Yes, Miss,” her woman urged, “don’t stand here.” But the actress waited nevertheless and said to Dan: “Who’s the girl?” “What girl?” “Why, the girl you come here every night to see and are too shy to speak to. Everybody is crazy to know.” Letty Lane looked like a little girl herself in the crocheted garment her small hands held across her breast. Dan put his arm on her shoulder without realizing the familiarity of his gesture: “Get out of this draft—get out of it quick, I say,” and pushed her toward her room. “Gracious, but you are strong.” She felt the muscular touch, and his hand flat against her shoulder was warm through the wool. “I wish _you_ were strong. You work too darned hard.” Her head was covered with the coral cap and feather. Dan saw her billowy skirt, her silken hose, her little coral shoes. She fluttered at the door which Higgins opened. “Why haven’t you been to see me?” she asked him. “You are not very polite.” “I am coming in now.” “Not a bit of it. I’m too busy, and it is a short entr’acte. Go and see the girl you came here to see.” Dan thought that the reason she forbade him to come in was because Prince Poniotowsky waited for her in her dressing-room. It was his first jealous moment, and the feeling fell on him with a swoop, and its fangs fastened in him with a stinging pain. He stammered: “I didn’t come to see any girl here but you. I came to see you.” “Come to-morrow at two, at the Savoy.” But before Dan realized his own precipitation, he had seized the door-handle as Letty Lane went within and was about to close her room against him, and said quickly: “I’m coming right in now.” “Why, I never heard of such a thing,” she answered sharply, angrily; “you must be crazy! Take away your hand!” And hers, as well as his, seized the handle of the door. Her small ice-cold hand brought him to his senses. “I beg your pardon,” he murmured confusedly. “Do go in and get warm if you can.”