"My husband plays altogether too ardent a lover to her!" cried Dovie Davis, jealously. "I won't stand it! Either she leaves this company at the end of a fortnight, or my husband and I do; that's all there is about it!"
This appeared to be the sentiment of every woman in the company, and they did not attempt to conceal their dislike as she passed them by during the evening.
Just before the curtain went down, Manager Morgan received a telegram which called him to Rochester. He had barely time to catch the train, and in his hurry he quite forgot to leave instructions to have some one see Jessie Bain to the hotel.
As Jessie emerged from her dressing-room she looked around for Mr. Morgan. He was nowhere about.
"I thought you'd never come out of your dressing-room, ma'am," said the man who was waiting to turn the lights out. "Every one's gone—you're the last one."
"Has—has Mr. Morgan gone?" echoed Jessie, in great trepidation.
"Every one's gone, I said," was the saucy reply.
And the man turned the light out in her face, and she was obliged to grope her way as best she could along the dark entry. After floundering about the building for almost ten minutes, until the great tears were rolling down her cheeks with fright, she at length called loudly to some one to come to her assistance.
The same man who had turned out the gas on her now came grumblingly to her rescue. At length she found herself out on the street.
Before she had time to turn and ask the man the way to the hotel, he had slammed the door to in her face and turned the key in the lock with a loud, resounding click, and Jessie found herself standing ankle-deep in the snow-drift, with the wind whirling about her and dashing the blinding snow in her face.