Leaving Mr. Vanstone and Norah, on the conclusion of the play, among the guests in the supper-room, Miss Garth went behind the scenes; ostensibly anxious to see if she could be of any use; really bent on ascertaining whether Magdalen’s head had been turned by the triumphs of the evening.  It would not have surprised Miss Garth if she had discovered her pupil in the act of making terms with the manager for her forthcoming appearance in a public theater.  As events really turned out, she found Magdalen on the stage, receiving, with gracious smiles, a card which the manager presented to her with a professional bow.  Noticing Miss Garth’s mute look of inquiry, the civil little man hastened to explain that the card was his own, and that he was merely asking the favor of Miss Vanstone’s recommendation at any future opportunity.

“This is not the last time the young lady will be concerned in private theatricals, I’ll answer for it,” said the manager.  “And if a superintendent is wanted on the next occasion, she has kindly promised to say a good word for me.  I am always to be heard of, miss, at that address.”  Saying those words, he bowed again, and discreetly disappeared.

Vague suspicions beset the mind of Miss Garth, and urged her to insist on looking at the card.  No more harmless morsel of pasteboard was ever passed from one hand to another.  The card contained nothing but the manager’s name, and, under it, the name and address of a theatrical agent in London.

“It is not worth the trouble of keeping,” said Miss Garth.

Magdalen caught her hand before she could throw the card away—­possessed herself of it the next instant—­and put it in her pocket.

“I promised to recommend him,” she said—­“and that’s one reason for keeping his card.  If it does nothing else, it will remind me of the happiest evening of my life—­and that’s another.  Come!” she cried, throwing her arms round Miss Garth with a feverish gayety—­“congratulate me on my success!”

“I will congratulate you when you have got over it,” said Miss Garth.

In half an hour more Magdalen had changed her dress; had joined the guests; and had soared into an atmosphere of congratulation high above the reach of any controlling influence that Miss Garth could exercise.  Frank, dilatory in all his proceedings, was the last of the dramatic company who left the precincts of the stage.  He made no attempt to join Magdalen in the supper-room—­but he was ready in the hall with her cloak when the carriages were called and the party broke up.

“Oh, Frank!” she said, looking round at him as he put the cloak on her shoulders, “I am so sorry it’s all over!  Come to-morrow morning, and let’s talk about it by ourselves.”

“In the shrubbery at ten?” asked Frank, in a whisper.