"Very well, dear," said the older woman submissively, for she was accustomed to the gratification of her daughter's whims. So when the Man in the Ironed Mask resumed his seat, a programme girl slipped a note into his hand. He read it, his face impassive as his Ironed Mask. When the play was over, he sauntered round to the squalid court in which the stage door was located and stalked nonchalantly up the stairs. The doorkeeper was too impressed by his air not to take him for granted. He seemed to go on instinctively till he arrived at a door placarded, "Miss Clorinda Bell--Private." He knocked, and the silvery accents he had been listening to all the evening bade him come in. The beautiful Clorinda, clad in diaphanous white and radiating perfumes, received him with an intoxicating smile. "It is so kind of you to come and see me," she said. He made a stately inclination. "The obligation is mine," he said. "I am greatly interested in the drama. This is the seventeenth time I have been to see you." "I meant here," she said piqued, though the smile stayed on. "Oh, but I understood----" His eyes wandered interrogatively about the room. "Yes, I know my mother is out," she replied. "She is on the stage picking up the bouquets. I believe she sent you a note. I do not know why she wants to see you, but she will be back soon. If you do not mind being left alone with me----" "Pray do not apologize, Miss Bell," he said considerately. "It is so good of you to say so. Won't you sit down?" The Man in the Ironed Mask sat down beside the dazzling Clorinda and stared expectantly at the door. There was a tense silence. His cloak hung negligently upon his shoulders. He held his crush hat calmly in his hand. Clorinda was highly chagrined. She felt as if she could slap his face and kiss the place to make it well. "Did you like the play?" she said, at last. He elevated his dark eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?" "Not entirely. You might come to see the players." "Quite so, quite so." He leaned his handsome head on his arm and looked pensively at the floor. It was some moments before he broke the silence again. But it was only by rising to his feet. He walked towards the door. "I am sorry I cannot stay any longer," he said. "Oh, no! You mustn't go without seeing my mother. She will be terribly disappointed." "Not less so than myself at missing her. Good-night, Miss Bell." He made his prim, courtly bow. "Oh, but you must see her! Come again to-morrow night, anyhow," exclaimed Clorinda desperately. And when his footsteps had died away down the stairs, she could not repress several tears of vexation. Then she looked hurriedly into a little mirror and marvelled silently. "Is he gone already?" said her mother, entering after knocking cautiously at the door. "Yes, he is insane." "Madly in love with you?" "Madly out of love with me."