“No,” she answered her gaze away from his out the cab window.  “You mustn’t worry, Ted, or blame yourself.  It—­it’s all my fault—­everything.”

“It’s good of you to let me out but I am not so sure I ought to be let out.  I’d give a good deal this minute if I could go back and not take Uncle Phil’s car that night.”  Ted leaned forward suddenly and for a startled instant Madeline thought he meant to kiss her.  But nothing was farther from his wish or thought.  It was the scar he was looking for.  He had almost forgotten it, just as he had almost forgotten the episode it represented.  But there it was on her forehead.  Even in the gathering darkness it showed with perfect distinctness.  “I hoped it had gone,” he added.  “But it is still there, isn’t it?”

“The scar?  Yes, it is still there.”  For a moment the ghost of a smile played about the girl’s lips.  “I’ve always liked it.  I’d miss it if it went.”

“Well, I don’t like it.  I hate it,” groaned the boy.  “Why, Madeline I might have killed you!”

“I know.  Sometimes I wish it had come out so.  It—­it would have been better.”

“Don’t Madeline.  That is an awful thing to say.  Things can’t be as bad as all that, you know they can’t.  By the way, can you tell me the whole business or would you rather not?”

The girl shivered.

“No.  Don’t ask me, Ted.  It—­it’s too awful.  Don’t bother about me.  You have done quite enough as it is.  I am very grateful but truly I would rather you wouldn’t have anything more to do with me.  Just forget I am here.”

And because this injunction was precisely in line with his own inclination Ted suspected its propriety and swung counterwise in true Ted fashion.

“I’ll do just exactly as I please about that.  I won’t pester you but you needn’t think I’m going to leave you all soul alone in a strange place when you are feeling rotten anyway.  I’m pretty doggoned selfish but not quite that bad.”

CHAPTER XXV

ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE

Although Max Hempel had not openly sought out Tony Holiday he was entirely aware of her presence in the city and in the dramatic school.  Whenever she played a role in the course of the latter’s program he had his trusted aides on the spot to watch her, gauge her progress, report their finding to himself.  Once or twice he had come himself, sat in a dark corner and kept his eye unblinking from first to last upon the girl.

In November it had seemed good to the school to revive The Killarney Rose, a play which ten years ago had had a phenomenal run and ended as it began with packed houses.  It was past history now.  Even the road companies had lapsed, and its name was all but forgotten by the fickle public which must and will have ever new sensations.

Hempel was glad the school had made this particular selection, doubly glad it had given Antoinette Holiday the title role.  The play would show whether the girl was ready for his purposes as he had about decided she was.  He would send Carol Clay to see her do the thing.  Carol would know.  Who better?  It was she who created the original Rose.