That was months ago, and since then, though he had seen her as often as she would permit, he had learned nothing of her antecedents nor of her life preceding her first appearance on the stage. He was too conventional, too considerate, perhaps, to question openly, and though her manner was spontaneous and direct, so far as the present was concerned, there was no scaling the wall of her reserve, in which he had been able to find not the smallest loop-hole or crevice. Always there had been a shadow in her eyes, and of late Donald Morris was sure that the shadow had strengthened and deepened. Always he had felt hers to be a sensitive, high-strung nature, overwrought. The demands of her profession and the emotional rôles which she played would account for much, but there was a tenseness about her always, and especially to-night, a note almost of hysteria, which in a person of her vitality was scarcely explainable even by the strain of a long season, culminating in the closing triumphs of the evening. She had resolutely, and with fixed determination, refused the ovation which her manager had planned, and after the final fall of the curtain, before the last of the enthusiastic audience had left the theatre, she had slipped quietly away with him--a triumph for him which he felt more keenly than anything in his previous experience. The blood ran hotly in his veins as he gazed across the narrow table into her eyes. The tragedy and appeal, suddenly and completely unmasked, which cried out to him from their depths swept every worldly consideration from his heart. He leaned farther forward and laid his brown hand upon the white one which was clenched upon the table. "What is it, Mary?" he questioned, almost fiercely. "There's something new--some anxiety. What is it, dear? You must tell me. You must let me protect----" He broke off suddenly and his voice dropped low. "I love you, Mary. I love you. I'd do anything in the world to serve you. You must----" Abruptly Mary Blake drew back her hand and rose. With the same trembling hand she drew closer the filmy white scarf which floated about her throat, and before he could reach her side, she caught up the light cloak which lay upon the back of her chair and wrapped herself from head to foot in its soft folds. "I must go," she whispered, trembling as with sudden cold. "It's late, Donald, and I'm very tired. Don't--oh, don't say any more to-night. I can't bear----" They passed out through the crowded restaurant and automatically both faces slipped on the mask which must be worn before the indifferent herd. Many eyes followed them in their passage down the room. Though their faces were somewhat obscured by the bizarre lighting of the place, at least one of them had been recognized by more than a few.