"Don't make a scene, my girl." He nodded toward the stalls, where already curious lorgnettes were beginning to be levelled at their box. "Sit down!" Doris obeyed mutely, her mobile lips quivering as she sought to suppress her emotion. She was conscious of a shiver which seemed to spread from her heart throughout her limbs. The oppression of a nameless fear took possession of her; it weighed her down. She sat very still, gripping her fan. "I'll be around fit as ever in the morning. 'Night, Lady Dinsmore. Take care of my girl." Grayson spoke jerkily with a strong effort. Lady Patricia Dinsmore regarded him coldly. She disliked the man cordially, and made no bones of it. In her heart she had never forgiven him for wedding her foolish younger sister, the family beauty, who had died at Doris' birth far away from her kith and kin in the desolate wilds of New York. "Good-night, Gerald," she said drily. "Try to get a little sleep." She turned to the younger man. "Put him to bed, Cord, and cut all the wires around the Savoy, so he won't call up those wretched brokers. I think he's trying to gobble the whole English market." She marked sharply the effect of her shaft. Grayson turned a shade paler. He clutched Van Ingen's arm. "Get me out of here!" he whispered hoarsely. Lady Patricia viewed their departing backs with a fleeting ironical smile. "Your father, my dear," she murmured to Doris, "is a very remarkable man." Out in the fresh air, Grayson revived amazingly. His feebleness disappeared as if by magic, and he stepped out briskly. He nodded to a hansom in the rank and the man drew in to the opening. "The Savoy," cried Grayson. He sprang in hastily. Van Ingen made as if to follow, but Grayson held the apron door securely. "No need in the world for you to accompany me, dear boy," he exclaimed, smiling. "Go back. I feel quite braced already. It was that devilish stuffiness inside--a momentary seizure. Good-night!" He waved his hand and sank back. The hansom started forward with a jerk, and the young man retraced his steps to the theatre, frowning thoughtfully. Ten minutes later Grayson thrust up the trap. "You may drop me here," he called. He descended and paid his fare. "I'll walk the rest of the way," he remarked casually. "Bit thickish on foot to-night, sir," offered the driver respectfully. "Better let me set you down at the hotel." But his fare was already lost in the enveloping gloom. Grayson wrapped his muffler closely about his chin, pulled down his hat to shadow his eyes, and hurried along like a man with a set destination. Presently he halted and signalled to a cab, crawling along close to the curb. Grayson scrutinised it keenly. The horse looked strong. "Can you take me some distance?" he asked the driver. "Take ye far's you got the coin!" Grayson glanced about him furtively. "As far as this?" He stepped forward and gave an address in a carefully lowered voice.