“Isn’t that my affair, Philip?” she asked calmly.

“No,” he answered, “it’s mine!”

She turned and laughed at him.  For a moment she was her old self again.

“You refuse me?”

His eyes glowed.

“We’ll wait,” he said hoarsely, “till Dane comes back from England!”

The car had stopped outside the theatre.  Hat in hand, and with his face wreathed in smiles, the commissionaire had thrown open the door.  The people on the pavement were nudging one another—­a famous woman was about to descend.  She turned back to Philip.

“Come in with me,” she begged.  “Somehow, I feel cold and lonely to-night.  It hasn’t anything to do with what we were talking about, but I feel as though something were going to happen, that something were coming out of the shadows, something that threatens either you or me.  I’m silly, but come.”

She clung to him as they crossed the pavement.  For once she forgot to smile at the little curious crowd.  She was absorbed in herself and her feelings.

“Life is so hard sometimes!” she exclaimed, as they lingered for a moment near the box office.  “There’s that poor girl, Philip, friendless and lonely.  What she must suffer!  God help her—­God help us all!  I am sick with loneliness myself, Philip.  Don’t leave me alone.  Come with me to my room.  I only want to see if there are any letters.  We’ll go somewhere near and dine first, before 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.”