“I told you not to set foot here again,” shouted Hart, following him virulently.
Strings bowed meekly. “I thought the King’s House in need of a player; so I came back, sir,” said he.
Hart was instantly beside himself. “Zounds!” he stormed. “I have had enough impudence to contend with to-night. Begone; or up you go for a vagrant.”
“I called on Mistress Gwyn, sir,” explained Strings.
“Mistress Gwyn does not receive drunkards,” fiercely retorted Hart; and he started hastily to the stage-door and called loudly for his force of men to put the fiddler out.
Nell’s door was still ajar. She had removed the roses from her hair and dress. She caught at once her name. Indeed, there was little that went on which Nell did not see or hear, even though walls intervened. “Who takes my name in vain?” she called. Her head popped through the opening left by the door, and she scanned the room.
As her eye fell upon the old fiddler, who had often played songs and dances for her in days gone by, a cry of joy came from her lips. She rushed into the greenroom and threw both arms about Strings’s neck. “My old comrade, as I live,” she cried, dancing about him. “I am joyed to see you, Strings!”
Turning, she saw the manager eying them with fiery glances. She knew the situation and the feeling. “Jack, is it not good to have Strings back?” she asked, sweetly.
Hart’s face grew livid with anger. He could see the merry devil dancing in her eye and on her tongue. He knew the hoyden well. “Gad, I will resign management.” He turned on his heel, entered his tiring-room and closed the door, none too gently. He feared to tarry longer, lest he might say too much.
Nell broke into a merry laugh; and the fiddler chuckled.