o
the centre of the stage. "Are we to be all day getting on with this
rehearsal?"

Packer flew to the table and seized the manuscript he had left there.
"All ready, sir! 'Nothing in this world but one thing can defeat'--and
so on, so on. All ready, sir!"

The star made no reply but to gaze upon him stonily, a stare which
produced another dreadful silence. Packer tried to smile, a lamentable
sight.

"Something wrong, Mr. Potter?" he finally ventured, desperately.

The answer came in a voice cracking with emotional strain: "I wonder
how many men bear what I bear? I wonder how many men would pay a
stage-manager the salary I pay, and then do all his work for him!"

"Mr. Potter, if you'll tell me what's the matter," Packer quavered; "if
you'll only tell me--"

"The understudy, idiot! Where is the understudy to read Miss Lyston's
part? You haven't got one! I knew it! I told you last week to engage an
understudy for the women's parts, and you haven't done it. I knew it, I
knew it! God help me, I knew it!"

"But I did, sir. I've got her here."

Packer ran to the back of the stage, shouting loudly: "Miss-oh, Miss--I
forget-your-name! Understudy! Miss--"

"I'm here!"

It was an odd, slender voice that spoke, just behind Talbot Potter, and
he turned to stare at a little figure in black--she had come so quietly
out of the shadows of the scenery into Miss Lyston's place that no one
had noticed. She was indefinite of outline still, in the sparse light of
that cavernous place; and, with a veil lifted just to the level of her
brows, under a shadowing black hat, not much was to be clearly discerned
of her except that she was small and pale and had bright eyes. But even
the two words she spoke proved the peculiar quality of her voice: it was
like the tremolo of a zither string; and at the sound of it the actors
on each side of her instinctively moved a step back for a better view
of her, while in his lurking place old Tinker let his dry lips open
a little, which was as near as he ever came, nowadays, to a look of
interest. He had noted that this voice, sweet as rain, and vibrant, but
not loud, was the ordinary speaking voice of the understudy, and that
her "I'm here," had sounded, soft and clear, across the deep orchestra
to the last row in the house.

"Of course!" Packer cried. "There she is, Mr. Potter! There's
Miss--Miss--"

"Is her name 'Missmiss'?" the star demanded bitterly.

"No sir. I've forgotten it, just this