g command of the stage. A
single glance over the body of the house showed him tier upon tier of
dead-white shirt-bosoms framed in black, alternating with bare gleaming
shoulders and dazzling, exquisite gowns. The few empty stalls were
rapidly filling up. There was a fluent movement through the aisles. A
subdued hum and rustle rose from that portion of the audience which was
already seated. The business going on upon the stage was receiving
little attention--from Whitaker as little as from any one. He was
vaguely conscious only of a scene suggesting with cruel cleverness the
interior of a shabby-genteel New York flat and of a few figures peopling
it, all dominated by a heavy-limbed, harsh-voiced termagant. That to
which he was most sensitive was a purely psychological feeling of
suspense and excitement, a semi-hysterical, high-strung, emotional state
which he knew he shared with the audience, its source in fact. The
opening scene in the development of the drama interested the gathering
little or not at all; it was hanging in suspense upon the unfolding of
some extraordinary development, something unprecedented and extraneous,
foreign to the play.

Was it due simply to the fact that all these people were present at the
last public appearance--as advertised--of a star of unusual popularity?
Whitaker wondered. Or was there something else in their minds, something
deeper and more profoundly significant?

Max slipped quietly into the box and handed his guest a programme.
"Better get over here," he suggested in a hoarse whisper, indicating a
chair near the rail. "You may never have another chance to see the
greatest living actress."

Whitaker thanked him and adopted the suggestion, albeit with reluctance.
The manager remained standing for a moment, quick eyes ranging over the
house. By this time the aisles were all clear, the rows of seats
presenting an almost unbroken array of upturned faces.

Max combined a nod denoting satisfaction with a slight frown.

"Wonderful house," he whispered, sitting down behind Whitaker. "Drummond
hasn't shown up yet, though."

"That so?" Whitaker returned over his shoulder.

"Yes; it's funny; never knew him to be so late. He always has the aisle
seat, fourth row, centre. But he'll be along presently."

Whitaker noted that the designated stall was vacant, then tried to fix
his attention upon the stage; but without much success; after a few
moments he became aware that he had missed somet