“I wish you was in ’em,” the little old woman exclaimed.  She replaced the pin, then surreptitiously removed some expensive cologne from a large bottle, transferring the perfume to a smaller bottle which she took from her pocket, dabbed her nose with Lilas’s powder-puff, and began laying out her enemy’s next change of costume.

Lorelei had left a handful of silver carelessly exposed, and, discovering this, Mrs. Croft counted it.  The pile was sufficiently large to reassure her, so she abstracted two quarters; then, in an excess of caution, returned one coin and took a dime in its place.

CHAPTER VI

Lorelei did not secure another word alone with the dresser until the middle of the second act, by which time Mrs. Croft was her own colorless, work-worn self once more.

“I don’t know no more than I told you,” she informed Lorelei.  “Mr. Melcher has been coming here for a long time, and he always talks about Mr. Hammon.  I’ve heard enough to know that him and her is after his money—­millions of it.  Mister Jim can tell you everything, for he’s talked about it, too, when you were on the stage.  Lilas mentioned him to-night when her and him was talking over the flesh-light photographs.  She said—­Oh, Gawd!—­” Mrs. Croft broke off her narrative suddenly, and, falling to her knees in a prayerful attitude, began nervously arranging the long row of foot-gear under Miss Lynn’s table.  The next instant the owner herself burst into the room, panting from a swift run up the stairs.

“Quick, Croft!  Don’t be all thumbs, now.”  She tossed a sealed letter upon her table, rapidly unhooked her dress, and stepped out of it, then into a flame-colored velvet gown which the old woman held for her.  She set a tremendous plumed hat upon her head, impaled it deftly, patted her hair into more becoming shape, and then seated herself, extending her feet for a change of slippers.  She took the moment to open and read her note.

Lorelei looked up from her sewing at a little cry of rage from Lilas.  Miss Lynn had torn the message into bits and flung it from her; her eyes were blazing.

“Damn him!” she cried, furiously, rising so abruptly as almost to upset Mrs. Croft.  “The idiot!”

“What is it?”

“I—­must telephone—­quick.”  Half-way to the door she halted at Lorelei’s warning: 

“Wait; you haven’t time.”

“Damn!” repeated the elder girl.  “I must; or—­Lorelei, dear, will you do me a favor?  Run down to the door and telephone for me?  I won’t be off again till the curtain, and that will be too late.”  Lorelei rose obediently.  “That’s a dear.  Call Tony the Barber’s place—­I—­I’ve forgotten the number—­anyhow, you can find it, and ask for Max.  Tell him it’s off; he can’t come.”

“Who can’t come?  Max?” “No.  Just say, ’Lilas sends word that it’s off; he can’t come.’  He’ll understand.  Run quick, or you won’t catch him, and—­He’ll kill me if I let him go.  I’ll call him later, to-night—­There’s my cue now.  Just ask for Max, and don’t use his last name.  Thanks.  I’ll do as much for you.”  Lilas was off with a rush, and Lorelei hastened after her, speculating vaguely as to the cause of all this anxiety.