Occasionally Havener ground his big teeth together and muttered something under his breath. At the hotel he took her in his arms. As he lifted her from the stretcher she cried out with pain.
"My side, Ross—my side!" she gasped.
"Oh, that miserable whelp!" grated the stage manager.
She lay on her bed, looking white and weak when the paint had been removed from her face by the aid of cocoa butter, soap and water. With folded arms, Havener stood and gazed down at her, his bosom heaving.
The other women of the company came and did all they could for her. The men came to the door to ask some questions.
"How did it happen?" they inquired.
"A brute did it!" answered Havener, and old Dan shrank and cowered in a corner.
"A—a brute?" faltered the physician. "A—a man?"
"Yes."