tor insists that we go out on location in the morning. You
understand, don't you?"

"Certainly," he replied. He had decided to tell her that his mother was
ill and unable to accept her invitation. His relief was beyond words
when he discovered that it would be unnecessary for him to fabricate an
excuse for Mrs. Gallant, although he realized it was only postponing
the time when he should be compelled to prevent Consuello learning of
his mother's harsh judgment of her.

"I was so anxious that we should have a perfect day together, your
mother, yourself, father and mother and I. But we can arrange it for
some other time, can't we?"

"I'm sure we can." He felt justified somehow in taking this optimistic
view.

"And I wanted to ask you, would you care to come out with us on
location, tomorrow? We have several scenes to do and I'm sure you will
find it interesting."

"It would be wonderful."

"If you can be at the studio at nine?"

"I'll be there."

"And you'll explain how it is to your mother and tell her how sorry I
am, won't you?"

"She'll understand." He felt he was not trifling as much with truth in
that answer.

Carrying out a conclusion he reached during the day, John did not tell
his mother of his conversation over the telephone with Consuello. He
told her only that he would be away most of Sunday, permitting her to
deduce that he had accepted Consuello's invitation and had made some
explanation of her absence.

A dozen automobiles were in line along the driveway of the Peerless
studio when John arrived promptly at nine o'clock, the following
morning. Consuello had evidently told the guard at the gate that she was
expecting him. It was only necessary for him to mention his name.

"Miss Carrillo asks that you be directed to her dressing room," the
gateman said.

With one exception the automobiles were already occupied. John
recognized the cameramen with their equipment piled in one of the cars.
In another he discerned his guide, "John J. Silence," and in another he
caught a glimpse of the sad-eyed bass 'cello player, his huge instrument
beside him.

As he left the driveway to cross to the dressing room building he saw
Consuello coming toward him. She wore the dainty white "old fashioned"
dress, as John had named it in his mind, that she had when they first
met at the Barton Randolph lawn fete. She was Consuello and yet because
of her facial "make-up," she was the girl he had seen before the camera