“The name?” Warrington rose impatiently.  Nobody likes to have his dreams disturbed.

“Miss Challoner, sir.”

“Challoner!” in surprise; “and this time of night?” He stroked his chin.  A moment passed.  Not that he hesitated to admit her; rather he wished to make a final analysis of his heart before his eyes fell down to worship her beauty.  “Admit her at once.”  He brushed the ashes from his jacket and smoothed his hair.  The valet disappeared.  “If I only loved the woman, loved her honestly, boldly, fearlessly, what a difference it would make!  I don’t love her, and I realize that I never did.  She never touched my heart, only my eye and mind.  I may be incapable of loving any one; perhaps that’s it.  But what can have possessed her to leave the theater this time of night?”

A swish of petticoats, a rush of cool air with which mingled an indefinable perfume, and, like a bird taking momentary rest in the passage, she stood poised on the threshold.  A beautiful woman is a tangible enchantment; and fame and fortune had made Katherine Challoner beautiful, roguishly, daringly, puzzlingly beautiful.  Her eyes sparkled like stars on ruffled waters, the flame of health and life burned in her cheeks, and the moist red mobile mouth expressed emotions so rapidly and irregularly as to bewilder the man who attempted to follow them.  Ah, but she could act; comedy or tragedy, it mattered not; she was always superb.

There was a tableau of short duration.  Her expression was one of gentle inquiry, his was one of interest not unmixed with fascination.  He felt a quick touch of compassion, of embarrassment.  There had been times when yonder woman had seemed to show him the preference that is given only to men who are loved.  Even as the thought came to him, he prayed that it was only his man’s vanity that imagined it.  As he stared at her, there came the old thrill:  beauty is a power tremendous.

“Dick, you do not say you are glad to see me.”

“Beauty striketh the sage dumb,” he laughed.  “What good fortune brings you here to-night?  What has happened?  How could you find time between the acts to run over?”

“I am not acting to-night.”

“What?”

“No.  Nor shall I be to-morrow night, nor the thousand nights that shall follow.”

“Why, girl!” he cried, pushing out a chair.  He had not seen her for two weeks.  He had known nothing of her movements, save that her splendid talents had saved a play from utter ruin.  Her declaration was like a thunderbolt.  “Explain!”

“Well, I am tired, Dick; I am tired.”  She sat down, and her gaze roved about the familiar room with a veiled affection for everything she saw.  “The world is empty.  I have begun to hate the fools who applaud me.  I hate the evil smells which hang about the theater.  I hate the overture and the man with the drums,” whimsically.

“What’s he done to you?”

“Nothing, only he makes more noise than the others.  I’m tired.  It is not a definite reason; but a woman is never obliged to be definite.”