"This," said Martha, "is as far as you can venture. There is my dressing-room, sacred only to the star—that's Poor Little Me."
And with a profound courtesy, she bowed low before Clayton. Then rising with the air of a tragedy queen, she pointed toward the door.
"Begone, varlet!" she cried, with mock intensity. "Your queen dismisses you."
Clayton laughed. "So little Martha Farnum has become a great New York star at last," he said seriously. "I couldn't realize that you were really going up so rapidly. This offer from Weldon was really enough to take your breath away, and when he decided during rehearsals to feature you so prominently, I concluded that perhaps you had more talent than either of us ever suspected. But when he actually starred you—say, did you see your name in electric letters as we came by the front of the theater?"
"Yes," cried Martha. "It almost took my breath away."
Clayton shook his head wonderingly.
"I remember your telling me Gordon offered to get you this engagement," he said. "Do you suppose—"
Martha laughed at his half-uttered thought.
"Mr. Gordon has had nothing to do with it," she declared. "I am sure of that, because he never came to one of the rehearsals. Once I saw some one out front in the darkened theater who seemed like Mr. Gordon, but when I asked him if he had attended the rehearsal he declared I was mistaken."