“My wife isn’t a show-woman!” thundered William, his brow black. “No offense, no offense, Mr. Carter!” Mr. Bernstein waved a fat hand on which a diamond flashed magnificently. “I don’t cotton to these cheap shows myself. Now, madam, I’m a business man, and I’ve got a proposition to make to you, a gilt-edged proposition.” He edged his chair nearer, looking from Fanchon to William and back again, with the air of a benefactor. “It’ll appeal to you, sir. It’s dignified, it’s fine, and it’s money, sir, good money! Now, I saw that dance to-night and I says to myself, ‘Sammy Bernstein, if you’re a man you’ll beat it after that first thing,’ and I’m beating it. Madam, I’d offer you, as a starter, five hundred dollars a week to give that dance in a picture, a high-class, six-reel picture, for the Unlimited Film Company!” Mr. Bernstein flung himself back in his chair, thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his white waistcoat, and beamed upon them. “Five hundred dollars a week, madam, and your expenses--for one picture. You can’t beat that--Corwin ain’t going to beat that!” “My wife won’t go into the movies!” said William, white with anger. Mr. Bernstein reddened. “I reckon you don’t understand, sir. The Unlimited Film Company is a star company, sir; it does the finest pictures in the country; we’ve got more stars than any other company this side of the Rockies. We got ’em, and we treat ’em right.” William rose furiously. “My wife isn’t looking for an engagement, sir, so we bid you good evening!” Mr. Bernstein rose hastily. “I say--no offense----” “You’re very good,” said Fanchon softly, lingering an instant as William strode away; “I’m not in it--not now! My husband doesn’t like it, you know. _Adieu, monsieur, et merci!_” She was smiling, a little flushed, altogether charming, as she lifted her fawn-like countenance to his red face. Mr. Bernstein relaxed and grinned knowingly. “I see! I’m sorry, madam. Put my foot in it, eh?” He lowered his voice. “I’ll make it eight hundred a week--see?” She nodded, but William had turned a white face toward them, and she fled lightly, following him in his hasty stride through the now crowded dining-room. She had caught her wraps up hastily and thrown them about her shoulders, and the chiffon frills framed her small, pointed chin. The diners--belated motorists and traveling salesmen--stared delightedly. The scene was as plain as a charade, the angry young husband and the lovely, coquettish, frivolous young wife. Fanchon caught whispers of admiration and glances of sympathy. At another moment they would have pleased her, would have appealed to every instinct of her light, admiration-loving nature, but to-night she saw some one ahead, some one whom she must pass, and she was thinking, thinking hard and fast, her heart beating pitifully under the splendor of her dancing dress.