ght
find its way into the newspapers, stepped forward to calm the irate
actress. Once, rumor said, Sanford Gordon had been able to calm her
impetuous spirit, but that had been in days long gone by. Then he had
chartered a private car to be near her on her travels, he had risked an
open scandal by his devotion to the celebrated beauty. Now things were
different. Not only did he not relish the idea of an altercation with a
hotel management, always fraught with sensational newspaper
possibilities which his smart fellow club members in New York might turn
into a jibe or a joke, but his influence with Mrs. Dainton herself
seemed to be waning.

"Really, my dear Mrs. Dainton," he began softly, "what does it matter?
We do not intend to remain here more than a moment."

Perhaps for some hidden reason of her own, Mrs. Dainton seemed to find
pleasure in turning upon him suddenly.

"How do you know how long I may stay here? Perhaps I may wish to spend
the afternoon here," she declared. "Some one has been smoking here,
smoking vile, filthy cigars. Such things affect my voice. And what could
I do without my voice? I couldn't act. I should be penniless. Victor,
you must not let this happen again."

"I will do my best, Mrs. Dainton," replied Victor.

"Marky" Zinsheimer, covertly throwing away his cigar, rose and bowed
before the English actress, while the footman stared in surprise, and
Victor seemed aghast at the presumption.

"I beg pardon, Mrs. Dainton, it was I who smoked," said "Marky."

Mrs. Dainton surveyed him curiously through her lorgnette.

"Indeed! You should have known better. I really think you had better
complain to the manager, Victor, about this person."

"My name is Zinsheimer," bowed "Marky," smiling amiably. "Well-known
first-nighter in New York--go to all the theaters--maybe you've heard of
me. I'm known everywhere along Broadway. Perhaps you may remember I
bought the first box for your opening night last season. Yes, paid three
hundred dollars for it, too," he added proudly, as an afterthought.

"Really?" repeated Mrs. Dainton, languidly. "Such things do not interest
me in the least. I never think of the sordid details of business--I live
only for my art."

She passed him by as though he were merely a part of the furniture.
"Marky" gazed at her furtively, but slowly his composure deserted him.
He backed away carefully from this wonderful creation.

"She lives only for her art, eh?" he murmured softly