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 waiting on the lawn." When Don looked up, she was lost in the exit of the supers.

He followed her, amazed by this outburst, which he could not understand. He wished to assure her that of course he liked her; that he had always had the greatest admiration and respect for her; that, if he had not shown it, it was because he had been a little in awe of her. As for her accusations against herself, they were foolish (he would tell her). She must not let herself think such things. She was everything that was high-minded, he knew. It was only her own over-sensitiveness that accused her of imaginary defects.

He tried to meet her in the wings, but she avoided him by not coming from the women's dressing-room until the instant that she was to go on the stage; and the play kept them separated there. He decided to meet her at the stage entrance and escort her to her boarding-house; but when the last curtain had fallen and he hurried to the supers' dressing-room to get into his street clothes, he found that Walter Pittsey and Mr. Kidder were waiting to speak to him. "I'm going to Boston," Pittsey explained, "to open an agency for Mr. Kidder. He wants you to take charge here, in my place. What do you say?"

"Why—why, yes, of course," Don stammered, as if reluctantly. "If Mr. Kidder wants me to"

Kidder, instead of being offended—as Pittsey seemed to fear he might be—put in, rather apologetically: "I'm going to have something better for you, pretty soon. You look after these boys, now. See that they take care of their costumes; that's the main thing.