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160 And I added, quietly, so that Lady Bunston only could hear (for it was not on the menu): "Nor do I purpose to try." And I stooped and kissed her.

Then she made her speech, and there was a note in her voice that I had never heard before, and far, far back in the dress circle I saw Papagyros smiling. Sir Wilfrid had gone.

It dawned on me, slowly, as I looked at the note in my hand, while the curtain slowly fell and a modest pitter-patter of applause, much less pronounced than the salvos which had greeted the first act, bade us good-night. It dawned on me, and I looked for the heroine, but she was gone.

The note, instead of being a mere scrawl like many stage notes, began: "My dear Mr. Sibley," and was signed "O. B. B.," which is Ophelia Bradford, Lady Bunston. And thus it ran:

"Do please forgive me for sending my maid, Marie, to take my place in the second act, after the first one went so nicely. You did beautifully, Mr. Sibley, and in the second act I feel sure you will do even better. But you, of course, saw what a frightful cold I had, and I am trying to take care of it. I caught it about two months ago while dining with Mrs. Phillips, next door to the Greek Embassy. After dinner Mrs. Phillips would have us sit in the drawing-room on the side toward the Embassy, and the window was open all evening."

This paper I chewed, reflective, as the clock struck midnight and divers supers went about extinguishing lights. Papagyros is a courteous man, and did not call again behind the scenes. But I felt la Wassini's slim hand thrust into mine.

"Poor old boy," said la Wassini. "I didn't know it until too late. She went out without telling me."

I was silent.

"The girl did well," said la Wassini.

"Remarkably well," I said.

"You had no idea?" said she.

I turned on her fiercely.

"There is only one thing I want to know," I said. "Where did she get the hair?"

"The hair," replied la Wassini, tranquilly, "is Lady Bunston's."

I groaned.

"I have worshipped it for three years," said I.

"Don't tell," said la Wassini.

I walked slowly to the fatal divan, sat down upon it, and lit a cigarette fretfully.

"If only—" said I, and stopped.

"If only?"

“If I had known about the—hair, I don't think I should have wanted to," said I.

"I'll tell Lady Bunston what you say," said la Wassini. "But I don't think it will do any good."

E—Your father is going to propose me at his club.

—Yes. He told me he thought it would be a good place for you to pass your evenings.

HE—I don't know whether I would better go to the theatre alone with you or not.

—Why not? It is perfectly proper.

"I know; but you might ask me to supper afterward."