“Yes, that’s what they all say!  And then they—­” She stopped.

“And then they—­what?” breathed Carter, playing with the loose ribbons of her feather boa.

“Then they fall in love with me!” pouted the girl, raising round eyes.

Carter was intoxicated at this confession, and laughed out loud.

“But you’re too young to play at falling in love!” he warned her.  “How old are you—­seventeen?  And you haven’t told me your name yet?”

“You know my name is Miss Page,” smiled Julia.

“And do you think I’m going to call you that?” Carter reproached her.

“It might be Jane,” she suggested.

“Yes, but it isn’t, you little devil!” Suddenly the man caught both her wrists, and Julia got on her feet, and instinctively flung back her head.  “You’re going to kiss me for that!” he said, half laughing, half vexed.

“Oh, no, I’m not!” A sudden twist of her body failed to free her, and the plume on her hat brushed his cheek.

“Oh, yes, you are!” He caught both wrists in one of his strong hands, and put his arm about her shoulders like a vise, turning her face toward him at the same time.  Julia, furious with the nervous fear that this scuffling would be overheard, and that Carter would make her ridiculous, glared at him, and they remained staring fixedly at each other for a few moments.

“You dare!” she whispered then, held so tightly that Carter could hear her heart beat, “and I’ll scream loud enough to bring every one in the place!”

“All right—­you little cat!” he laughed, freeing her suddenly.  Julia tossed her head and walked off without speaking, but presently an oblique swift glance at him showed his expression to be all penitent and beseeching; their eyes met, and they both laughed.  Still laughing, they came upon Artheris and Connie, and all walked out together on the deserted stage.

The great empty arch was but dimly lighted, draughty, odorous, and gloomy.  Beyond the extinguished footlights they could see the curved enormous cavern of the house, row upon row of empty seats.  In the orchestra box two or three men, one in his coat sleeves, were disputing over an opera score.  High up in the topmost gallery some one was experimenting with the calcium machine; a fan of light occasionally swept the house, or a man’s profile was silhouetted against a sputter of blue flame.

Artheris and young Hazzard paced the stage, consulted, and disagreed.  Connie practised a fancy step in a wide circle, her skirt caught up, her face quite free of self-consciousness.  Julia sat on a box, soberly looking from face to face.

Something had happened to her, she did not yet know what.  She was frightened, yet strangely bold; she experienced delicious chills, yet her cheeks were on fire.  Love of life flooded her whole being in waves; she was wrapped, lulled, saturated, in a new and dreamy peace.

Julia felt a sudden warm rush of affection for Connie—­dear old Con—­the best friend a girl ever had!  She looked about the theatre; how she loved the old “Grand!” Above all possible conditions in life it was wonderful to be Julia Page, sitting here, the very hub of the world, a being to love and be loved.