e first rows of the
pit, the precise age of your leading lady. Now look down! There is a
young girl flitting about the stalls. She is an actress, not very
successful. But to-night she is as busy as a bee. She is crabbing your
play. Yesterday her opinion on the subject was of no value, and it will
be again of no value to-morrow. But as one of the limited audience on a
first night, she can do just a tiny bit of harm. But don't hold it
against her, Hillyard! She has no feeling against you. This is her
little moment of importance."

Sir Charles rattled on through the interval--all good nature with just a
slice of lemon--and it had happened that he had pointed out one who was
to be the instrument of great trouble for Hillyard and a few others,
with whom this story is concerned.

Hillyard interrupted Hardiman.

"Who is the girl at the end of the sixth row, who seems to have stepped
down from a china group on a mantelpiece?"

"That one?" said Hardiman, and all the raillery faded from his face.
"That is Mrs. Croyle. You will meet her to-night at my supper party." He
hesitated as to what further he should say. "You might do worse than be
a friend to her. She is not, I am afraid, very happy."

Hillyard was surprised at the sudden gentleness of his companion's
voice, and looked quickly towards him. Hardiman answered the look as he
got heavily up from his chair.

"I sometimes fear that I have some responsibility for her unhappiness.
But there are things one cannot help."

The light in the auditorium went down while Hardiman was leaving the
box, and the curtain rose on the third act of "The Dark Tower." Of that
play, however, you may read in the files of the various newspapers, if
you will. This story is concerned with Martin Hillyard, not his work. It
is sufficient to echo the words of Sir Chichester Splay when Hillyard
was introduced to him an hour and a half later in the private
supper-room at the Semiramis Hotel.

"A good play, Mr. Hillyard. Not a great play, of course, but quite a
good play," said Sir Chichester with just the necessary patronage to
tickle Hillyard to an appreciation of Hardiman's phrases--a ten and
six-penny Mecaenas.

"I am grateful that it has earned your good opinion," he replied.

"Oh, not at all!" cried Sir Chichester, and catching a lady who passed
by the arm. "Stella, Mr. Hillyard should know you. This is Mrs. Croyle.
I hope you will meet him some day at Rackham Park."

Sir Chichester trott