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 for the stage, pressing upon his upper lip his false moustache, of which the gum had not yet dried.

It followed that he did not see her until the curtain had risen on the act. He lifted his hat as he approached her in the promenade, but she gave him a frightened glance and tried to pass him without speaking; and when he said, "Don't you know me?" confronting her smilingly, she stepped back from him with a start of bewilderment, bumping into the two girls who were behind her. He saved the situation by stepping between her and the audience. "All right," he whispered. "Walk across the way you were going. Didn't you know me?"

When he had brought her safely to the wings, she stammered indignantly: "I—I thought it was another of those One of those men spoke to me."

"Who? Where?"

"Over on the other side." She pointed him out; and Don recognised him as an unwholesome-looking youth named Cousin, whom the other supers had nicknamed "Delicate Pete."

"What did he say?"

"Something about it being a fine day for a walk."

Don laughed. "Perhaps he thought he knew you."

"Well," she said, with a half-humorous exasperation, "I don't see how he could. I shouldn't know myself. I feel like a silly, plastered up this way. I can hardly see!" Her lashes were thick with cosmetique. "And you! You're the colour of a wooden Indian—the ones they have in front of cigar stores. I should think you'd feel perfectly absurd."