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The manager nodded, eying her curiously.

“Mr. Wyatt, you’ve heard of their trouble, of course? The accident this morning to their little boy?”

“Ah, yes–yes,” said Wyatt. “Of course. Hurt by a fall, poor little fellow. Very serious. Yes, poor things! Did you want to see–“

“You know that one of your big surgeons here–I’ve forgotten the name!–is to operate on little Phil tomorrow?” asked Mrs. Coppered.

“So Penrose said,” assented the manager, slowly, watching her as if a little surprised at her insistence.

“Mr. Wyatt.” said Mrs. Coppered,–and Duncan noticed that she had turned a little pale,–“Mrs. Penrose wired me news of all this only a few hours ago. She is half frantic at the idea that she must go on tomorrow afternoon and evening; yet the understudy is ill, and she felt it was too short notice to ask you to make a change now. But it occurred to me to come to see you about it. I want to ask you a favor. I want you to let me play Mrs. Penrose’s part tomorrow afternoon and tomorrow night. I’ve played Mabel Vane a hundred times; it’s a part I know very well,” she went on quickly. “I–I am not in the least afraid that I can’t take it. And then she can be with the little boy through the operation and afterward–he’s only five, you know, at the unreasonable age when all children want their mothers! Can’t that be arranged, Mr. Wyatt?”

Duncan, holding a horrified breath, fixed his eyes, as he did, on the manager’s face. He was relieved at the inflexible smile he saw there.

“My dear lady,” said Wyatt, kindly, “that is–absolutely–OUT of the question! Anything in reason I will be delighted to do for Penrose and Miss Archer–but you must surely realize that I can’t do that!”

“But wait!” said Mrs. Coppered, eagerly, not at all discouraged. “Don’t say no yet! I AM an actress, Mr. Wyatt, or was one. I know the part thoroughly. And the circumstances–the circumstances are unusual, aren’t they?”

While she was speaking the manager was steadily shaking his head.

“I have no doubt you could play the part,” said he, “but I can’t upset my whole company by substituting now. Tomorrow is going to be a big night. The house is completely sold out to the Masons–their convention week, you know. As it happens, there couldn’t be a more inconvenient time. No, I can’t consider it!”

Mrs. Coppered smiled at him. She had a very winning smile.

“It would mean a rehearsal; I suppose THAT would be inconvenient, to begin with,” she said.

“Exactly,” said Wyatt. “Friday night. I can’t ask my people to rehearse to-morrow.”

“But suppose you put it to them and they were all willing?” pursued the lady.

“My dear lady, I tell you it’s absolutely–” He made a goaded gesture. Then, making fierce little dashes and dots on his blotter with his pencil, and eying each one ferociously as he made it, he added irritably, but in a quieter tone: “You’re an actress, eh? Where’d you get your experience?”

“With various stock companies on the Pacific Coast,” she answered readily. “My name was Margaret Charteris. I don’t suppose you ever heard it?”

“As it happens, I HAVE,” he returned, surprised into interest. “You knew Joe Pitcher, of course. He spoke of you. I remember the name very well.”

“Professor Pitcher!” she exclaimed radiantly. “Of course I knew him–dear old man! Where is he–still there?”

“Still there,” he assented absently. “You married, I think?”

“I am Mrs. Coppered now–Mrs. Carey Coppered,” she said. The man gave her a suddenly awakened glance.

“Surely,” he said thoughtfully. They looked steadily at each other, and Duncan saw the color come into Margaret’s face. There was a little silence.

Then the manager flung down his pencil, wheeled about in his chair, and rubbed his hands briskly together.

“Well!” he said. “And you think you can take Miss Archer’s place, Mrs. Coppered?”

“If you will let me.”

“Why,” he said,–and Duncan would not have believed that the somewhat heavy face could wear a look so pleasant,–“you are doing so much, Mrs. Coppered, in stepping into the gap this way, that I’ll do my share if I can! Perhaps I can’t arrange it, but we can try. I’ll call a rehearsal and speak to Miss Forsythe to-night. If you know the part, it’s just possible that by going over it now we can get out of a rehearsal tomorrow. She wants to be with the little boy, eh?” he added musingly. “Yes, I suppose it might make a big difference, his not being terrified by strangers.” And then, turning toward Margaret, he said warmly and a little awkwardly: “This is a remarkably kind thing for you to do, Mrs. Coppered.”