“I know all that, Miss Melliss.”  His reply was vaguely apologetic.

“Maybe you do, but I’m not through yet.  She was cut to a delicate pattern and meant for life’s sunshine and God knows she’s had plenty of shadow.  She’s kept a smile on her lips and a laugh in her eyes through things that would have crumpled up lots of those tender creatures you know.  You don’t guess what it means to that sort of woman—­well, to see life from the angle we get on it, but Marcia knows.  You came along and she—­” The young woman broke off in sudden silence.

“She what?” Anxiety sounded through his question.

“Oh, she never told me anything.  It’s not her fashion to tell such things, but I have a pair of eyes myself.  I figure that Marcia let herself in for a danger she thought she had put behind her.  She allowed herself to have a dream.”  She paused and her gaze was almost accusing in its directness.  “From the look in her eyes before she went away I guess she realized that it was a dream.”

Miss Melliss had eyes of a brown softness, but just now they flashed hard as agate and her voice rose to a scornful indignation.

“As if we haven’t enough to handle with the facts of Life, without hopeless dreams!  I’m no anarchist railing at wealth and luxury ... but you men that want everything ... and give nothing—­” She broke off and abruptly demanded, “Well, when you think about it, what do you call it to yourselves?”

“Where is she?” demanded Paul.

“She’s out with a dinky, barnstorming company, playing one-night stands—­on a route of tank-towns and whistling stations.  It was all she could get.  She’s making early-morning jumps between shabby hotels with a bunch of cheap actors and cheaper actresses that are just about as congenial to her as a herd of goats.”  The voice vibrated with sincere feeling.

“Are you going to tell me where I can find her?”

The girl studied her cigarette, drew a puff upon it and exhaled a cloud of smoke before she answered.  Then she spoke reflectively.

“I’m just wondering whether I am or not.  If you’re going to follow her up and make her dream again—­only to wake up again, I certainly am not.  If you’re going to be any comfort to her I am, because God knows she needs some comfort.  She is only going on her nerve.”

“Please tell me,” he urged very persuasively.  At that moment it was in his mind to write a truthful letter to Loraine Haswell and go to Marcia with a proposal of marriage.  He felt only his need of her—­and her importance to himself.  He failed to reckon on the thousand misgivings and indecisions which would assail him between the moment of impulse and that of execution.  But his eyes were sincere and Dorothy believed them.  She went to her desk and brought back a sheet of paper.

“That’s the route for this week—­and next,” she said.  “After that you must either find out for yourself or go without knowing.”