“Don’t stand a minute.” And by the hand she gave him Dan led her over to the lounge where the pillows were piled and a fur-lined silk cover thrown across the sofa. “Don’t give me that heavy rug, there’s that little white shawl.” She pointed to it, and Dan, as he gave it to her, recognized the shawl in which she wrapped herself when she crossed the icy wings. “It’s in those infernal side scenes you get colds.” He sat down by her. She began to cough violently and he asked, troubled, “Who’s taking care of you, anyway?” “Higgins and a couple of doctors.” “That’s all?” “Yes. Why, who should be?” Dan didn’t follow up his jealous suspicion, but asked in a tone almost paternal and softly confidential: “How are your finances getting on?” Her lips curved in a friendly smile. But she made a dismissing gesture with her frail little hand. “Oh, I’m all right; Higgins told me you had some news about my poor people.” The fact that she did not take up the financial subject made him unpleasantly sure that her wants had been supplied. “Got a whole bunch of news,” Dan replied cheerfully. “I went to see the old man and the girl in their diggings. Gosh, you couldn’t believe such things were true.” She drew her fine brows together. “I guess there are a good many things that would surprise you. But you don’t need to tell me about hard times. That’s the way I am. I’ll do anything, give anything, so long as I don’t have to hear hard stories.” She turned to him confidentially. “Perhaps it’s acting in false scenes on the stage; perhaps it’s because I’m lazy and selfish, but I can’t bear to hear about tales of woe.” What she said somewhat disturbed his idea of her big-hearted charity. “I don’t believe you’re lazy or selfish,” he said sincerely, “but I’ve got an idea that not many people really know you.” This amused her. Looking at him quizzically, she laughed. “I expect you think you do.” Dan answered: “Well, I guess the people that see you when you are a kid, who come from your own part of the country, have a sort of friendship.” And the girl on the sofa from the depths of her shawl put out a thin little hand to him and said in a voice as lovely in tone as when she sang in _Mandalay_: “Well, I guess that’s right! I guess that’s about true.” After the tenth of a second, in which she thought best to take her little cold hand away from those big warm ones, she asked: “Now please do tell me about the poor people.” In this way giving him to understand how really true his better idea of her had been. “Why, the old duffer is as happy as a house afire,” said the boy. “Not to boast, I’ve done the whole thing up as well as I knew how. I’ve got him into that health resort you spoke of, and the girl seems to have got a regular education vice! She wants to study something, so she’s going to school.” “Go on talking,” the actress invited languidly. “I love to hear you talk Montana! Don’t change your twang for this beastly English drawl, whatever you do.”