“Yes,” said Shelton quietly, “for Paxhorn and Vermont.  Well, it’s no business of mine, of course.”

He turned to Ada, who had been tapping her foot angrily during this little conversation.  “Well, Miss Lester,” he said, “haven’t you a word for me to-night?”

She glared at him viciously, for Mortimer was not a favourite of hers.

“Yes,” she snapped.  “I hate the sight of you!”

Both men laughed as though amused.

“That was a fair hit,” said Shelton, with mock grief in his voice.  “Don’t kill me right out, Miss Lester.  Let me open a bottle of champagne for you.”

“I don’t want it,” said the popular dancer, her eyes flashing angrily.  Then, turning her back on him, she said to Adrien, “Ain’t you going to the front to see me dance?”

“I can see you from here,” was his answer.  “You look charming, my dear Ada; doesn’t she, Mortimer?”

“Yes, and as good as she is beautiful,” declared that gentleman, making her a low bow.

With a furious glance at him, and a furtive look at Adrien, she passed them, and, accompanied by a burst of music from the orchestra and a storm of clapping from the audience, she commenced her dance.

Shelton watched her with a sneer.

“Hark! how they applaud,” he said, glancing up at the crowded and delighted house.  “They seem to admire her, anyway.  Long live Miss Ada, Queen of dancers.  Adrien, why do you put up with that painted vixen?”

Leroy smiled at his sudden change of tone.

“Don’t let her hear you,” he said.  “And don’t worry yourself about me, old fellow.”

“You’re afraid of her,” continued his friend.  “Oh, yes, you may think it an impertinence if you like, but I know you are.  You’d face a cannon’s mouth sooner than that woman’s angry abuse.  You dread a scene as a musician does a false note.  For me, I’m sick of the whole world.”

“Why do you remain in it, then?” asked Adrien, laughing.

“For the same reason as yourself,” replied the cynic.  “Neither of us know what the next will be like.”

Adrien laughed, but before he could explain to his friend his plan with regard to Ada, a crowd of pretty dancers in silver gauze surrounded him, begging for real bon-bons, instead of the painted property sweets given out to them.

“Do you girls think I am made of bon-bons, like the piece?” he said, waving them back.  “Why, you’ll make yourselves ill.”

“Oh, Mr. Leroy,” pouted one, “we’ve danced so hard, too!”

“Go to Mr. Vermont, then,” was the indolent reply; “he’ll give you what you want,” and with a rush they swept back on to the stage.

“Always Jasper,” murmured Shelton sadly, as his friend, with a genial wave of the hand, picked his way past cardboard castles and paper trees, till he disappeared through the door that would lead him to his stage-box.