“I’m not going, though, Miss Lane,” he said frankly. “I’ve got an appointment with you and I’m going to stay.” As he did so the other people in the room took form for him: a blind beggar with a stick in his hand, and by his side a small child wrapped in a shawl. With relief Dan saw that Poniotowsky was absent from the party. Cohen opened the box, took its contents out and held up the jewels. “This,” he said, indicating a string of pearls, “is all right, Miss Lane, and the ear-drops. The rest is no good. I’ll take or leave them, as you like.” She was plainly annoyed and excited, and, as Higgins tried to lace her, moved from her dressing-table to the sofa in a state of agitation. “Take them or leave them, as _you_ like,” she said, “but give me the money and go.” The Jew took from his wallet a roll of banknotes and counted them. “Six,” he began, but she waved him back. “Don’t tell me how much it is. I don’t want to know.” “Let the other lady count it,” the Jew said. “I don’t do business that way.” Dan, who had laid down his overcoat and hat on a chair, came quietly forward, his hands in his pockets, and standing in front of the Jew, he said again: “Now you look here—” Letty Lane threw the money down on the dressing-table. “Please,” she cried to Dan, “let me have the pleasure of sending this man out of my room. You can go, Cohen, and go in a hurry, too.” The Jew stuffed the pearls in his pocket and went by Dan hurriedly, as though he feared the young man intended to help him. But Dan stopped him: “Before this deal goes through I want you to tell me why you are—” Miss Lane broke in: “My gracious Heavens! Can’t I even sell my jewels without being bossed? What business is it of yours, Mr. Blair? Let this man go, and go all of you—all of you. Higgins, send them out.” The blind man and the child stirred, too, at this outburst. The little girl wore a miserable hat, a wreck of a hat, in which shook a feather like a broken mast. The rest of her garments seemed made of the elements—of dirt and mud—mere flags of distress, and the odor of the poor filled the room: over the perfume and scent and smell of stage properties, this miserable smell held its own. “Come, Daddy,” whispered the child timidly, “come along.” “Oh, no, not you, not you,” Letty Lane said. Job Cohen crawled out with ten thousand pounds’ worth of pearls in his pockets, and as soon as the door had closed the actress took up the roll of notes. “Come here,” she said to the child. “Now you can take your father to the home I told you of. It is nice and comfortable—they will treat his eyes there.” “Miss Lane—Miss Lane!” called the page boy. “Never mind that,” said the actress, “it is a long wait this act. I don’t go on yet.” Higgins went to the door and opened it and stood a moment, then disappeared into the side scenes.