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“Yes, I know her–I know who you mean, anyway,” he said. “Why?”

“Why?” echoed Van Bibber, raising his eyes. “We wish to see her on a matter of business. Can you tell me her name?”

The elevator was running so slowly now that its movement upward was barely perceptible.

“Her name’s Annie–Annie Crehan. Excuse me,” said the young man, doubtfully, “ain’t you the young fellows who came to our ball with that English lady, the one that sung?”

“Yes,” Van Bibber assented, pleasantly. “We were there. That’s where I’ve seen you before. You were there too, weren’t you?”

“Me and Annie was dancing together most all the evening. I seen all youse watching her.”

“Of course,” exclaimed Van Bibber. “I remember you now. Oh, then you must know her quite well. Maybe you can help us. We want to put her on the stage.”

The elevator came to a stop with an abrupt jerk, and the young man shoved his hands behind him, and leaned back against one of the mirrors in its side.

“On the stage,” he repeated. “Why?”

Van Bibber smiled and shrugged his shoulders in some embarrassment at this peremptory challenge. But there was nothing in the young man’s tone or manner that could give offence. He seemed much in earnest, and spoke as though they must understand that he had some right to question.

“Why? Because of her dancing. She is a very remarkable dancer. All of those actors with us that night said so. You must know that yourself better than any one else, since you can dance with her. She could make quite a fortune as a dancer, and we have persuaded several managers to promise to give her a trial. And if she needs money to pay for lessons, or to buy the proper dresses and slippers and things, we are willing to give it to her, or to lend it to her, if she would like that better.”

“Why?” repeated the young man, immovably. His manner was not encouraging.

“Why–what?” interrupted Travers, with growing impatience.

“Why are you willing to give her money? You don’t know her.”

Van Bibber looked at Travers, and Travers smiled in some annoyance. The electric bell rang violently from different floors, but the young man did not heed it. He had halted the elevator between two landings, and he now seated himself on the velvet cushions and crossed one leg over the other, as though for a protracted debate. Travers gazed about him in humorous apprehension, as though alarmed at the position in which he found himself, hung as it were between the earth and sky.

“I swear I am an unarmed man,” he said, in a whisper.

“Our intentions are well meant, I assure you,” said Van Bibber, with an amused smile. “The girl is working ten hours a day for very little money, isn’t she? You know she is, when she could make a great deal of money by working half as hard. We have some influence with theatrical people, and we meant merely to put her in the way of bettering her position, and to give her the chance to do something which she can do better than many others, while almost any one, I take it, can sweep and make beds. If she were properly managed, she could become a great dancer, and delight thousands of people–add to the gayety of nations, as it were. She’s hardly doing that now, is she? Have you any objections to that? What right have you to make objections, anyway?”

The young man regarded the two young gentlemen before him with a dogged countenance, but there was now in his eyes a look of helplessness and of great disquietude.

“We’re engaged to be married, Annie and me,” he said. “That’s it.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Van Bibber, “I beg your pardon. That’s different. Well, in that case, you can help us very much, if you wish. We leave it entirely with you!”

“I don’t want that you should leave it with me,” said the young man, harshly. “I don’t want to have nothing to do with it. Annie can speak for herself. I knew it was coming to this,” he said, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, “or something like this. I’ve never felt dead sure of Annie, never once. I always knew something would happen.”