I change. Philip, what is the matter with me?
I don't want to go a step alone. I don't want to be alone for a moment."

He laughed reassuringly and drew her closer to him. She led the way down
the passage towards her own suite of apartments. They passed one or two
of the officials of the theatre, whom she greeted with something less
than her usual charm of manner. As they reached the manager's office
there was the sound of loud voices, and the door was thrown open. Mr.
Fink appeared, and with him a somewhat remarkable figure--a tall,
immensely broad, ill-dressed man, with a strong, rugged face and a mass
of grey hair; a huge man, who seemed, somehow or other, to proclaim
himself of a bigger and stronger type than those others amongst whom
he moved. He had black eyes, and the heavy jaw of an Irishman. His face
was curiously unwrinkled. He stood there, blocking the way, his great
hands suddenly thrust forward.

"Betty, by the Lord that loves us!" he exclaimed. "Here's luck! I was on
my way out to search for you. Got here on the Chicago Limited at four
o'clock. Give me your hands and say that you are glad to see me."

If Elizabeth were glad, she showed no sign of it. She seemed to have
become rooted to the spot, suddenly dumb. Philip, by her side, heard the
quick indrawing of her breath.

"Sylvanus!" she murmured. "You! Why, I thought you were in China."

"There's no place on God's earth can hold me for long," was the
boisterous reply. "I did my business there in three days and caught a
Japanese boat back. Such a voyage and such food! But New York will make
up for that. You've got a great play, they tell me. I must hear all about
it. Shake my hands first, though, girl, as though you were glad to see
me. You seem to have shrunken since I saw you last--to have grown
smaller. Didn't London agree with you?"

The moment of shock had passed. Elizabeth had recovered herself. She gave
the newcomer her hands quite frankly. She even seemed, in a measure, glad
to see him.

"These unannounced comings and goings of yours from the ends of the earth
are so upsetting to your friends," she declared.

"And this gentleman? Who is he?"

Elizabeth laughed softly.

"I needn't tell you, Mr. Ware," she said, turning to Philip, "that this
dear man here is an eccentric. I dare say you've heard of him. It is Mr.
Sylvanus Power, and Sylvanus, this is Mr. Merton Ware, the author of our
play--'The House of Shams.'"

Philip felt his hand he