“Put her in a cab at once,” said the star, somewhat recovered from his consternation. “You can pay the cabman,” he added. “Make her as comfortable as you can; she's really ill. Miss Lyston, you shouldn't have tried to rehearse when you're so ill. Do everything possible for Miss Lyston's comfort, Packer.”
He followed the pair as they entered the passageway to the stage door; then, Miss Lyston's demonstrations becoming less audible, he halted abruptly, and his brow grew dark with suspicion. When Packer returned, he beckoned him aside. “Didn't she seem all right as soon as she got out of my sight?”
“No, sir; she seemed pretty badly upset.”
“What about?”
“Oh, something entirely outside of rehearsal, sir,” Packer answered in haste. “Entirely outside. She wanted to know if I'd heard any gossip about her husband lately. That's it, Mr. Potter.”
“You don't think she was shamming just to get off?”
“Oh, not at all. I—”
“Ha! She may have fooled you, Packer, or perhaps—perhaps”—he paused, frowning—“perhaps you were trying to fool me, too. I don't know your private life; you may have reasons to help her de—”
“Mr. Potter!” cried the distressed man. “What could be my object? I don't know Miss Lyston off. I was only telling you the simple truth.”
“How do I know?” Potter gave him a piercing look. “People are always trying to take advantage of me.”