it was the third cross on the fate of Miss Patricia Adair.
Crosses on fates in the world of Broadway go in singles, doubles, and
threes, and no man can tell their exact significance.

"Good!" answered Mr. Dennis Farraday, with another and still broader
smile of gratification and admiration of the Violet as an artist--a
smile which further infuriated, but equally inspired her. "And what a
grand time we'll all have putting it across! I'm going to help Van see
actors for the cast on Friday, and I'm going to sit in on rehearsals
straight through. I'm due a month's vacation, and I'm going to have my
mail from the office relayed back to New York from the yacht off
Nantucket so that bunch of money grubbers can't find me. Think of having
the honor of being co-producer for Violet Hawtry for my first shot!"

All of which enthusiasm and admiration went like wine to the head of the
Violet, though it left her heart uncomfortably cold; and beautiful, cool
moonlight heats the heart of a fair woman when it is not more than two
feet away from that of a brave and fair man.

"Sure I'll make it a success for you, man dear!" Maggie Murphy in the
Violet made an attempt to put a glow into the situation, using the
brogue that was like rich cream poured over peaches, as she snuggled her
bare shoulder, from which the orchid wrap had slipped, with a natural
little shiver against good Dennis's wheel arm.

"You and Van are trumps to take me in for the fun, and I'm no end
grateful to you both," was all she got for her manoeuver.

"Yes--Van is a dear," she hedged in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Yes, and I suppose after my co-first night with him the old scout will
stop baiting me about blinking the white lights. I always have been
obliged to beat Van at any game before I could rest in peace." And at
the thought of getting in at his David big Jonathan laughed heartily
just as he began to slow up the car for the turn along the sea-wall that
led under the porch of Highcliff.

"Have you ever competed with him in the biggest game of all?" the
Violet asked softly, as the car swept into the shadow and stopped by the
broad stone steps.

"What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Farraday, with a countenance so open
and a voice so hearty that the Violet, used to artifice from everybody,
suspected that they could not be real, and this suspicion made her give
up the game for the time being. She laughed with a mocking sweetness as
she sprang out of the car and to th