rue. You must not mind him. He iss like dat
vhenever anyt'ing goes wrong. But he means not'ing--not'ing!" She
extended her hand. "I am glad to see you safely back."

Assuring Mr. Ludlow that she would be on hand in the evening without
fail, and promising to see him during the afternoon if he called,
Dorothy went up to her room, where a hot bath and a nap of several
hours' duration put her in excellent physical trim for the ordeal
that night--for an ordeal she knew it was to be--an ordeal that would
be the making or the breaking of her career.

CHAPTER XV

DOROTHY'S TRIUMPH

At last the hour was approaching when Dorothy would make her
appearance before a metropolitan audience. As evening drew near she
felt a nervous sensation, mingled with a faint suspicion of nausea,
and wondered at it. Upon the occasion of her appearance in Baltimore
not even a tremor of excitement had possessed her; yet, the very
thought of appearing in the glare of the footlights in this great New
York theater gave her an almost uncontrollable desire to fly
away--anywhere--away from the people of this city whose opinions
seemed to mean so much to the followers of music and the drama.

Arriving at the theater early, just as she had on the occasion of her
appearance in her home city, Dorothy again peeped through a small
hole in the curtain, to find the great gold-and-green auditorium a
perfect blaze of light.

To her right, in the stage box, sat Aunt Betty, Molly, the Judge,
Frau Deichenberg, Mr. Ronald and Jim Barlow chatting gayly, and
awaiting the time when the curtain should rise for Dorothy's opening
number.

The murmur of many voices reached the girl, as she looked. It was an
audience of taste and culture. Mr. Ludlow had seen to that. His
affairs were looked upon by music lovers as distinctly out of the
ordinary, hence the better class of people attended them--even sought
eagerly for seats.

By the time Herr Deichenberg appeared on the stage to flash the
orchestra a signal for the overture, the house was packed almost to
the doors. People were even standing three deep in the back,
apparently in the best of humor and seeming not to mind in the least
the discomforts attending "standing room only."

Dorothy sought her dressing-room, a great lump in her throat, and
taking her violin from the case, nervously thumbed the strings. It
was so unusual--this feeling of helplessness--the feeling that she
was but an unimportant atom in th