“Ah, yes—­yes,” said Wyatt.  “Of course.  Hurt by a fall, poor little fellow.  Very serious.  Yes, poor things!  Did you want to see—­”

“You know that one of your big surgeons here—­I’ve forgotten the name!—­is to operate on little Phil tomorrow?” asked Mrs. Coppered.

“So Penrose said,” assented the manager, slowly, watching her as if a little surprised at her insistence.

“Mr. Wyatt.” said Mrs. Coppered,—­and Duncan noticed that she had turned a little pale,—­“Mrs. Penrose wired me news of all this only a few hours ago.  She is half frantic at the idea that she must go on tomorrow afternoon and evening; yet the understudy is ill, and she felt it was too short notice to ask you to make a change now.  But it occurred to me to come to see you about it.  I want to ask you a favor.  I want you to let me play Mrs. Penrose’s part tomorrow afternoon and tomorrow night.  I’ve played Mabel Vane a hundred times; it’s a part I know very well,” she went on quickly.  “I—­I am not in the least afraid that I can’t take it.  And then she can be with the little boy through the operation and afterward—­he’s only five, you know, at the unreasonable age when all children want their mothers!  Can’t that be arranged, Mr. Wyatt?”

Duncan, holding a horrified breath, fixed his eyes, as he did, on the manager’s face.  He was relieved at the inflexible smile he saw there.

“My dear lady,” said Wyatt, kindly, “that is—­absolutely—­out of the question!  Anything in reason I will be delighted to do for Penrose and Miss Archer—­but you must surely realize that I can’t do that!”

“But wait!” said Mrs. Coppered, eagerly, not at all discouraged.  “Don’t say no yet!  I am an actress, Mr. Wyatt, or was one.  I know the part thoroughly.  And the circumstances—­the circumstances are unusual, aren’t they?”

While she was speaking the manager was steadily shaking his head.

“I have no doubt you could play the part,” said he, “but I can’t upset my whole company by substituting now.  Tomorrow is going to be a big night.  The house is completely sold out to the Masons—­their convention week, you know.  As it happens, there couldn’t be a more inconvenient time.  No, I can’t consider it!”

Mrs. Coppered smiled at him.  She had a very winning smile.

“It would mean a rehearsal; I suppose that would be inconvenient, to begin with,” she said.

“Exactly,” said Wyatt.  “Friday night.  I can’t ask my people to rehearse to-morrow.”

“But suppose you put it to them and they were all willing?” pursued the lady.

“My dear lady, I tell you it’s absolutely—­” He made a goaded gesture.  Then, making fierce little dashes and dots on his blotter with his pencil, and eying each one ferociously as he made it, he added irritably, but in a quieter tone:  “You’re an actress, eh?  Where’d you get your experience?”

“With various stock companies on the Pacific Coast,” she answered readily.  “My name was Margaret Charteris.  I don’t suppose you ever heard it?”