"Dad--look!" she whispered tensely, tugging at his sleeve. "Don't you see? It's----"
She stopped, shrugged a little, and her hand dropped limply to her knee. The fall of the curtain and the flare-up of the lights seemed to have blotted out an illusion. Mr. Hardwick, gray and lean and looking rather uncomfortable in his full-dress suit, adjusted his glasses on his thin nose, and looked at her gravely.
"My goodness, child! What _is_ the matter?" he murmured.
"Nothing, dad. I forgot that--that you wouldn't understand." She drew the palm of her hand across her forehead. "Isn't the air stifling?"
"Too much excitement for you, I am afraid." He smiled as if his practical sense had found a satisfactory answer. "Your mother was just like that. Whenever she got a bit wrought up, she always said things that I couldn't understand. Now----"
The hangings parted and Vincent Starr stepped inside the box. Helen gave him a swiftly appraising glance. His face was flushed and he looked tired, as if his last ounce of energy had been spent in the emotional tempest of _Marius_, but a swift look of animation brightened his face as she introduced her father. The first thing one usually noticed about Vincent Starr was his pale, placid eyes. They seemed to give the lie to his magnetic smile, his vivacious manners, and his deep and perfectly modulated voice. As once or twice before in his presence, Helen felt fascinated and repelled.
"You are doing my daughter a great honor," murmured Mr. Hardwick.
"Not at all." Starr laughed softly, but Helen thought she detected a slight discord that might have been due to either nervousness or fatigue. "Miss Hardwick has placed me under a very great obligation. Her play is splendid. The last act is particularly strong, as you will see in a few minutes. You must give me your opinion of----"
Helen heard no more. She had glanced toward the rear of the house just in time to see a mysterious smile on the face of the woman seated in the last row. In vain Helen tried to read and interpret it. Presently the woman took a pencil from her bag and began to write on a page torn from her programme. Finally she summoned an usher, handed him what she had written, and nodded in the direction where Helen was sitting. The attendant glided away, and a few moments later he stood bowing before Starr.