During the ride in the cab, Jerry felt his first uncomfortable minutes with Jane. He did not know what to say to her. It overturned all his ideas of her to have her quoting Oscar Wilde at him. He would not have known that it was Oscar Wilde, but Bobs said it was. He had never really looked at this woman, who had gone among them all these years, and all at once to-night, she was beautiful! He was so upset by it all that for once he was silent.

Jane, who was not in the least embarrassed, came to his rescue.

"Tell me exactly what I am to do, please, Mr. Paxton."

"Well, there is a platform and a long flight of stairs leading down from it. The tableaux form on the stage and then dissolve and go down the stairs into the throne room."

"I see. Am I in a tableau?"

"No, you go alone. You appear with the head, on the charger, hold it up so they can see it, then you come down the stairs."

"That isn't hard. Then what?"

"You go to the throne, display the head to Herod and the Queen, and run off with it, stage right."

"Is that all?"

"No, you come on later, during a dancing number, walk across and sit on the steps of the throne, watching the dancers. If that is too difficult, we could get you on before the dance begins."

"Why is it difficult?"

"You ought to rehearse walking in among the dancers, not to halt them, or run into them. The other girl had a good deal of trouble with it."

"Suppose you wait until after I come off with the head to decide whether I make that later entrance."

"All right. Have you ever been in amateur performances before, Miss Judd?"

"Oh, yes, in school."

"I cannot begin to say how grateful I am to you for helping me out this way."

"Better thank me later."

They arrived at the club, and pushed their way into the bedlam behind scenes. It was packed with excited performers, waiting to be made up, or just finished. Jerry was hailed on all sides with questions and anxious protests. He found a chair for Jane.

"Keep your wrap on; it is draughty here. I'll be back in a minute."

"Everybody except those in the first three tableaux clear out. We can't have this confusion. Quickly, please," he shouted.

He directed them into other rooms, with clear directions as to what they were to do, where they were to stay, until called for. The women all tried to get a few words with him, but he kept them moving. One royal creature, whom he addressed as Mrs. Brendon, appeared, swathed in sable. She spoke to him, caressingly, as a privileged intimate.

"You're wonderful," he said to her.

"Did you get a Salome?"

"Yes."

"Professional?"

"No, sub-amateur."

"But, Jerry, in that important part——"

"Don't worry. She can do it."

"Has Althea Morton come yet?"

"I haven't seen her. Here she comes now."

A fair, lovely woman made her way toward them through the crowd. She was Naomi.

"I was just asking Jerry about you," the older woman said.

"My! but you are magnificent, Herodias," she exclaimed.

"Isn't she?" Jerry echoed.

"You are really perfect, Althea. Isn't she lovely, Jerry?" Mrs. Brendon responded.

Althea looked into Jerry's eyes, and blushed.

"Will I do?" she asked him.

"You are very beautiful!" he answered feelingly.

Jane heard it all, remembered their names. She suspected that Jerry's admission made the whole evening a success for Althea Morton. It interested Jane, and amused her a little, to see his power over women.

"Whom did you get for Salome?" Althea asked him.

"Oh, I want you to meet her. She looks great."

He turned to find Jane almost beside them. He had not realized how near to them she sat.

"Here you are! Mrs. Brendon, this is Miss Jane Judd. Miss Morton, Miss Judd. If Miss Judd had not come to our rescue I do not know what we would have done."

The women bowed to each other, and Mrs. Brendon frankly inspected Jane.

"Very good of you, I'm sure. You look charming."

"Thank you."

"What dance do you do?" Miss Morton inquired.

"Mr. Paxton has cut the dance."

"How could he? Why, that was the only thing to the part."

"Unfortunately, I do not dance."

"Oh, everybody dances now. You could have faked it. Do you hear that, Mrs. Brendon, she isn't going to do any dance," Miss Morton said, turning away to talk to Mrs. Brendon.

Jane felt, what they intended her to feel, that she was not of them, however kind she had been in coming to the rescue. Jerry came up to them again.

"I must carry Miss Judd off to look at the stage," he said, leading Jane away.

"Doesn't Jerry look like a god?" said Mrs. Brendon, watching him. Althea nodded.

"Are you frightened, Miss Judd?" Jerry asked.

"No."

Jane looked through the curtains at the great hall beyond and exclaimed with pleasure.

"Like it?"

"It's splendid."

"You can gauge the length of your walk. The music will follow you, until you're off."

"I understand."

The music began at that moment, and Jerry hurried away. Herod and his Queen descended to their thrones, amid great applause. The first two tableaux formed, appeared, descended. Jerry was everywhere. He came up beside Jane.

"I go next, then you come. There is the head. The platter is not heavy at all. Go out below the throne, nearest audience."

"All right."

His music sounded, so he sprang into his picture. He was greeted with prolonged applause. Jane caught her breath in short gasps, while she waited for her cue. The violin began a slow, sensuous strain. The stage manager came to her, with her props.

"Now, Miss Salome," he said.

She picked up the head.

"Here, this goes, too."

"No, I can't use that. I want just the head," she answered, and stepped into the oval, the gory head held high above her in both hands. She stood a second, while the applause burst, then she slowly turned to them, held the grisly head against her breast, and slunk down the stairs, panther-like, her hand caressing the dead face.

She was unaware of the audience until she reached the lowest step, then she swept them once in a swift insolent glance, held high the head, laughed, ran to the throne, saluted the King and Queen, then pressing her lips to the dead lips, she ran off.

The applause was deafening, continuous. In the wings they tried to get her to go out and bow, but she refused. The sound grew more imperious, but she was firm. Mr. Paxton had not told her to take any encores. The applause intended for her nearly spoiled the Naomi tableau, a fact which Miss Morton did not forgive. The show went on.

Jane sat back with a sigh. Presently she saw Jerry come into the ante-room to look for her. He hurried over, when he spied her, and seized her hands.

"You played a nice trick on me! You were the best yet. Why didn't you come out and take your curtain?"

"You didn't tell me to."

"Oh, Jane, Jane, you bluffer!"

"May I go home now, or do you want me later?"

"I should say I do want you later. I'll give you the sign for your entrance."

He left her and she sat there a long time watching the others. One or two "fellow artists" congratulated her upon her success, but most of them just looked at her with interest. Finally Jerry came again.

"All right now. The dancers are just beginning. Slip around them somehow, get to the throne steps, and sit there watching them, until the show is over. Wait; now this is a good time."

She started on. At sight of her there was great applause. She wove in and out among the dancers, watching them superciliously, seeming at moments to be a part of the dance. She was every inch royal, and wicked. Before the throne she bowed low, then threw herself, full length, before it, her chin on her palm, her elbow on the throne step. While she languidly watched the dancing, the audience watched her.

"I'll be damned," said Jerry, softly, watching her, too.

When the last tableau was finished, Herod and his women left the throne, to join the audience. Everybody in the crowd which surrounded them spoke to Jane, congratulating her upon her success. Mrs. Brendon, seeing this, presented clamouring admirers, always mentioning her as a great friend of Mr. Jerry Paxton's. On all sides they declared it to be the most successful pageant of the season.

"Who is Mr. Jerry Paxton?" people demanded.

"Don't you know him? Why, he's a genius! He's a portrait painter, one of the coming ones. I have commissioned him to paint me, in this costume he designed for me," was Mrs. Brendon's unchanging answer. Jane noticed that it always made an impression.

"Why, Mr. Christiansen, what are you doing here?" Mrs. Brendon demanded of a giant of a man who approached them.

"I came to see what you vandals would do to the prophets," he replied.

"We've done very well by them, don't you think?" she laughingly inquired.

"Some of them seemed to me a trifle decadent, I confess."

"The Old Testament is decadent, if you come to that."

"So? Elemental, I should say, rather than decadent."

"What's the difference? They're both naughty."

He laughed and indicated Jane.

"May I be presented to Salome?"

"Miss Judd, this is Mr. Martin Christiansen," she said.

"You know your Oscar Wilde, Miss Judd," he said.

"Miss Judd substituted at the last moment," Mrs. Brendon said. "Wasn't it wonderful of her?"

"It was because I knew the Wilde Salome that I was able to do it at all."

"You are an actress?"

"Oh, no. I'm—I'm not anything."

"Excuse me; yours was the only distinguished impersonation to-night. You made these beautiful dolls worth enduring," he said in a low tone.

"Oh!" breathed Jane, looking at him directly, to be sure he wasn't laughing at her, then hastily gazing toward Mrs. Brendon, to make sure she had not heard him. But that great lady had swept on.

"Who is Jerry Paxton?"

"Every one asks that. Mrs. Brandon says,—" Here she gave so perfect an imitation of Mrs. Brendon's words and manner that Christiansen laughed heartily.

"So, he is a painter. I seem to remember him faintly. Is he a good painter?"

"I'm not a critic."

"You like him—the man, I mean?"

"Why—I don't know. I'm sorry for him, rather."

"He doesn't look an object to inspire pity, Miss Salome. He seems to be a brilliant sort of person."

"Yes, I know, but he's so sort of unprotected, like a little boy."

"So that's why you're sorry for him? That's akin to saying that you're sorry for all men."

"I am, rather, and all women."

He looked at her keenly, and she gave him her eyes directly.

"You don't look a misogynist."

"I am tremendously interested in life, but I feel always a little sorry for all of us who are trying to live it. Don't you?"

"Yes, but I'm old enough to be sorry for us, and you are not."

"I'm rather old," she said; then, as he laughed, she joined him. She was nearer happy than she had ever been. She was having a real conversation with a man she liked.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"In a queer sort of place, a tenement house down on——You ought to know who I am. I don't belong here at all," she added.

"So much the better."

"I came at the last minute, as Mrs. Brendon said, because Mr. Paxton couldn't get any one else. I'm just a sort of general housekeeper in the studios around the Square. I take care of artists."

"Studio mother," he smiled. "What else do you do?"

"I read a great deal, and I write."

"Now we come to the gist of the matter. What do you write?"

"I don't know what made me say that. I never told that secret to any one before."

"Thank you. But writing isn't a crime. If it is, half of New York is in the criminal class."

"Please don't tell any one I said such a silly thing. What I do is just nothing."

"It's a secret. I promise. Where do you publish?"

"I don't publish."

"No? You're an author after my own heart. I'm a critic, you see."

"Yes, I know."

"Do you? You read me?"

"Yes, always."

"When may I come and see you?"

"You may not come, please. I—I must go now."

"I have frightened you away."

"No, I only stayed on your account."

"Let me take you home?"

"No, thanks. Good-night."

He took her hand.

"I warn you that I shall find you, Miss Jane Judd. I never lose people who interest me."

She pressed his hand, smiled, and left him. A few minutes later, as he was making his way to the door, previous to his own escape, Jerry came to him.

"Mr. Christiansen, I'm Jerry Paxton. Mrs. Brendon said that you had Miss Judd with you. I'm looking for her."

"She escaped. I tried hard enough to keep her, but she went home."

"Went home?"

"So she said. Who is she?"

"Why, she's a girl who does things around the studios, I don't know her very well. She was good, wasn't she?"

"She was the only thing in the show; a most beautiful creature."

"Funny thing, we've never thought she had any looks."

"It isn't the obvious kind of thing that is fashionable now. Odd, haunting sort of face."

"One thing is obvious. Cinderella did not like the ball," said Jerry.

"Maybe it was the Prince she didn't like. Modern princes are so disappointing," grinned the big man, to the other's discomfiture.