The woman shook her head.  “No,” she said.

“Who is her mother?”

The woman looked at the sleeping child and then up at him almost defiantly.  “Ida Clare was her mother,” she said.

Van Bibber’s protecting hand left the child as suddenly as though something had burned it, and he drew back so quickly that her head slipped from his arm, and she awoke and raised her eyes and looked up at him questioningly.  He looked back at her with a glance of the strangest concern and of the deepest pity.  Then he stooped and drew her towards him very tenderly, put her head back in the corner of his arm, and watched her in silence while she smiled drowsily and went to sleep again.

“And who takes care of her now?” he asked.

The woman straightened herself and seemed relieved.  She saw that the stranger had recognized the child’s pedigree and knew her story, and that he was not going to comment on it.  “I do,” she said.  “After the divorce Ida came to me,” she said, speaking more freely.  “I used to be in her company when she was doing ‘Aladdin,’ and then when I left the stage and started to keep an actors’ boarding-house, she came to me.  She lived on with us a year, until she died, and she made me the guardian of the child.  I train children for the stage, you know, me and my sister, Ada Dyer; you’ve heard of her, I guess.  The courts pay us for her keep, but it isn’t much, and I’m expecting to get what I spent on her from what she makes on the stage.  Two of them other children are my pupils; but they can’t touch Madie.  She is a better dancer an’ singer than any of them.  If it hadn’t been for the Society keeping her back, she would have been on the stage two years ago.  She’s great, she is.  She’ll be just as good as her mother was.”

Van Bibber gave a little start, and winced visibly, but turned it off into a cough.  “And her father,” he said, hesitatingly, “does he—­”

“Her father,” said the woman, tossing back her head, “he looks after himself, he does.  We don’t ask no favors of him.  She’ll get along without him or his folks, thank you.  Call him a gentleman?  Nice gentleman he is!” Then she stopped abruptly.  “I guess, though, you know him,” she added.  “Perhaps he’s a friend of yourn?”

“I just know him,” said Van Bibber, wearily.

He sat with the child asleep beside him while the woman turned to the others and dressed them for the third act.  She explained that Madie would not appear in the last act, only the two larger girls, so she let her sleep, with the cape of Van Bibber’s cloak around her.

Van Bibber sat there for several long minutes thinking, and then looked up quickly, and dropped his eyes again as quickly, and said, with an effort to speak quietly and unconcernedly:  “If the little girl is not on in this act, would you mind if I took her home?  I have a cab at the stage-door, and she’s so sleepy it seems a pity to keep her up.  The sister you spoke of or some one could put her to bed.”