"Perhaps!" He shifted his cigar. "Better get to work!" "Be patient!" she said, shaking her curls. "Only three months more!" "_Hein?_" "The tenth of March is when my season closes!" "Honest?" "Quite so!" "You'll begin to work?" "Either that, or other things!" she said provokingly. "What other things?" "Oh, I might marry!" He snorted with rage. Then, drawing his calendar to him, he turned ahead. "March ten, eh?" He paused, and put a big cross on the day before. "I'd like an option of the ninth myself!" "How so?" "Let me discuss a little contract with you before you come to any other decision. What do you say? Promise!" She laughed. She had no illusions in her mind as to the nature of what he might propose. "Listen to what I've in mind before you close anywhere else!" he persisted. "All right, Blainey!" He rose, dragging himself up from his chair. "Heavens, Blainey, do I get the honors of Sada Quichy?" she said, laughing, as she perceived his intention was to accompany her to the outer door. "Come to me, kid, when you need a tip or for anything else!" he said quietly. He put out his stumpy hand, tapping her shoulder. "I'd like to do a lot for you--know that, don't you? All right! Good luck!" She gave him a quick pressure of her hand and went out. The atmosphere of the theater always impressed her, throwing her other life into futile outlines. Here was something definite--the satisfaction of a purpose, the reality of work. And as she returned, thinking of Massingale, of the wild romance she had created for themselves, she felt more and more drawn to a career. A woman who achieved things, who had even a trace of genius, had a right, in the eyes of the world, to her own life, to be judged differently. The news she had received of Winona doubled her suspicions. If this chance had failed the girl, no wonder that she had set herself deliberately toward a marriage with Peavey. Dodo was wildly indignant at this double dealing. She considered the least of her admirers her inviolate property, and she never saw one desert without a feeling of resentment. In Peavey's case it was thrice blameworthy, considering all the prodigies of planning she had spent to bring him to the point and maintain him in the _status quo_. For Peavey was in truth, as Judge Massingale had laughingly expressed it, the "man behind the rock," and even in the wildest flights of her imagination she retained, unconsciously, a prudent spirit toward the uncharted future. She might fly in the face of society, and then, again, at the last, she might not find in herself all the audacity she desired to believe in. Peavey was a bridge back into conventionality, security and certain necessary luxuries which she never for a moment, in her thrifty mind, intended to neglect.