“Nevertheless, I still want it,” she answered evenly.  And after a moment Duncan, true to his training, and already a little ashamed of his ineffectual outburst,—­for to waste a display of emotion was, in his code, a lamentable breach of etiquette,—­shrugged his shoulders.

“Still want to stay with it?” said Mr. Wyatt, giving her a shrewd, friendly look.

“Certainly,” she said promptly; but she was breathing fast.

“Then we might go and talk things over,” he said; and a moment later they were crossing the theatre to the stage door.  The final curtain had fallen only a moment before, but the lights were up, the orchestra halfway through a swift waltz, and the audience, buttoning coats and struggling with gloves, was pouring up the aisles.  Duncan, through all his anger and apprehension, felt a little thrill of superiority over these departing playgoers as he and his stepmother were admitted behind the scenes.  He was young, and the imagined romance of green-rooms and footlights appealed to him.

The company, suddenly summoned, appeared in various stages of street and stage attire.  Peg, a handsome young woman with brilliant color and golden hair, still wore her brocaded gown and patches, and wore, in addition, a slightly affronted look at this unprecedented proceeding.  The other members of the cast, yawning, slightly curious, were grouped about in the great draughty space between the wings that it cost Duncan some little effort to realize was the stage.

From this group, as Margaret followed the stage manager into the circle of light, a little woman suddenly detached herself, and, running across the stage and breaking into sobs as she ran, she was in Margaret’s arms in a second.

“Oh, Meg, Meg, Meg!” she cried, laughing and crying at the same time.  “I knew you’d come!  I knew you’d manage it somehow!  I’ve been praying so—­I’ve been watching the clock!  Oh, Meg,” she went on pitifully, fumbling blindly for a handkerchief, “he’s been suffering so, and I had to leave him!  They thought he was asleep, but when I tried to loosen his little hand he woke up!”

“Mary—­Mary!” said Mrs. Coppered, soothingly, patting the bowed shoulder.  No one else moved; a breathless attention held the group.  “Of course I came,” she went on, with a little triumphant laugh, “and I think everything’s all right!”

“Yes, I know,” said Mrs. Penrose, with a convulsive effort at self-control.  She caught Margaret’s soft big muff, and drew it across her eyes.  “I’m ru-ru-ruining your fur, Margaret!” she said, laughing through tears, “but—­but seeing you this way, and realizing that I could go—­go—­go to him now—­”