"Oh, Charlie, oh, my good, _dear_ Charlie!" Her face was suddenly stirred with an upswelling of emotion. No other man in her hard and sordid experience had been to her what Charlie Crowder had, never a lover, always a friend. "Now, Pancha," he said pleadingly, "don't look at me like that or I'll burst into sobs." She rose and, putting her hands on his shoulders, kissed him on the forehead with a sexless tenderness. Her eyes were wet and to hide it she turned to where her costume lay on the chair. Crowder had nothing to say; these bursts of gratitude from his friend made him embarrassed. "Look," she cried suddenly and snatched up the box of roses, "even a Johnny at the stage door. That's going some," and thrusting her hand into the box, she plucked up by their heads a handful of blossoms. Their pure sweet breath flowed out on the coarse scents with which the small place reeked. Crowder affected a shocked surprise. "What's this? A lover at last and I kept in ignorance." "This is his first appearance, not a yap till tonight. And look at the yap." She dropped the box and took out from under the paper a card which she held toward him, "Some style about _that_ yap." It was the square of pasteboard furnished by the florist. On it was written in a small, upright hand, "Let me offer you these roses, sweet as your voice, delicate as your art, and lovely as yourself. An admirer." Crowder raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes in exaggerated amazement. "Well, well, well! I must look into this. Who _is_ the gentleman ?" "I haven't a guess." She took the card and dwelt on it delightedly. "Ain't it stylish writing--scratchy and yet you can read it? And the words, they're almost poetry. I never got flowers before with a sentiment as swell as that." "Don't you honest know who it is?" said Crowder, impressed by the flowery profusion of "the sentiment." "Not me. Jake brought 'em in after the second curtain. They were left by a messenger boy. Whoever he is he certainly does things in a classy way. Maybe he's a newspaper man to write like that." Crowder opined he was not. He could hardly imagine one of his fellows--even secure in his anonymity--permitting his pen such florid license. "When you break through the dark secret let me know. Then I'll come round and cast my searchlight eye over him and see if he's a proper companion for little Panchita." "No fear," she cried, throwing the card back in the box. "Little Panchita's got a searchlight eye of her own. Believe _me_, it's a good, trained, old eye. Now skiddoo. I've got to slip into my togs and then me for home and a glass of milk. If he comes to the surface with another gasp I'll tell you."