"How much does she know about you?" Beatrice asked bluntly.
"Everything," he confessed. "I don't know what I should have done without her. She has been the most wonderful friend any one could have."
Beatrice looked at him a little critically.
"You're a queer person, Philip," she exclaimed. "You're not fit to go about alone, really. Good thing I came over to take care of you, I think."
"You don't understand," he replied. "Miss Dalstan is—well, unlike anybody else. She wants to see you. I am to take you round after the next act, if you would like to go."
Beatrice smiled at him in a gratified manner.
"I've always wanted to go behind the scenes," she admitted. "I'll come with you, with pleasure. Perhaps if I decide that I'd like to go on the stage, she may be able to help me. How much is twenty thousand pounds in dollars, Philip?"
"A little over a hundred thousand," he told her.
"I don't suppose they think that much out here," she went on ruminatingly. "The hotel where Mr. Dane sent me—it's nice enough, in its way, but very stuffy as regards the people—is twice as expensive as it would be in London. However, we shall see."
The curtain rang up on the third act, and Beatrice, seated well back in the shadows, followed the play attentively, appreciated its good points and had every appearance of both understanding and enjoying it. Afterwards, she rose promptly to her feet, still clapping.