There was silence for the space of some minutes. The two men smoked their cigars--Sutherland looking at vacancy, Crieff watching his face. The latter broke silence first. ‘There’s more in this than you’ve yet told me. Are you sure you have seen Miss Vere to-night for the first time!’ ‘I am not sure.’ ‘You know her?’ ‘No, but she is the ghost of a woman I once saw.’ Another pause, then Crieff spoke again. ‘I tell you what, the best thing you can do is to make her acquaintance. Shall I ask Abrahams to introduce you?’ To his friend’s surprise, Sutherland turned upon him a look of the uttermost consternation, and then said in a low voice-- ‘Not yet.’ CHAPTER XX.--A PAINTER’S MODEL. While the public were busy discussing the merits and demerits of the star which had shone forth so suddenly upon the theatrical horizon, the lady herself was sitting in her dressing-room, apparently indifferent to all that passed or was likely to come. Her theatrical splendour had been cast off, and, enveloped now in a plain dark dress, she sat with dishevelled hair and pale cheeks, gazing dreamily at her own reflection in a mirror. Her maid, who was busily engaged in folding a delicate robe, was suddenly interrupted in her work by a knock at the door. She opened it and admitted White. He walked over to the dreamy girl, put his arm round her shoulders, and kissed her fondly. ‘Well, here I am,’ he said quickly, with a glance at the busy, listening maid. ‘Are you almost ready to come home?’ ‘I am quite ready,’ returned Madeline, awakening from her dream. She rose at once, coiled up her hair, put on her hat and cloak, and, after giving a few directions to her maid, took White’s arm and left the room. The house had been emptied and darkened, and the curtain raised, but confusion still prevailed upon the stage. Carpenters, scene-shifters, property men, actors and actresses, bereft of their splendour, all gathered according to their different grades around Abrahams, Hart, and the acting manager, who were holding forth like the outer world upon the merits of the heroine of the night. Madeline, plainly dressed, thickly veiled, and clinging closely to White’s arm, hoped to pass unseen through the crowd; but no sooner had she reached the centre of the stage than the keen eye of the manager fell upon her, and he advanced with outstretched hands. ‘My dear Miss Vere,’ he said, ‘allow me to congratulate you on a big success. You’ve hit ’em right between the eyes, my dear. You have, by Jove! I always said you would. Didn’t I always say you would?’ And turning to White, he added-- ‘White, old man, dine with me to-morrow at five sharp. I’ve a lot to talk over.’ Madeline received the homage quietly enough, and by a slight pressure of her hand upon the arm of her delighted guardian hurried him along out through the stage door.