Marion helped him deftly, all the time listening for her cue. Fortunately there was a good deal for the other performers to do before she was needed.
For in less than five minutes the curtain had gone up again, showing the sword drill exactly where the momentary tragedy had left it.
“One of the chorus girls has pricked herself with her sword,” the audience was told. No one, except a few of her companions, dreamed that the injury was serious.
When Marion’s turn came at last, Miss Lindsay’s arm was all bandaged and she had just opened her eyes with a return of consciousness.
As Marion rose from her place beside her on the dusty floor of the scene-room she caught a glance from Jack Green’s eyes as he stood a little way from them.
The fair girl shuddered as she saw his look; it was so full of an ugly, brooding hatred.
“He hates her and she loves him,” was her whispered comment. The next moment she was out on the stage, and everything else was forgotten.
“Ila de Parloa’s” appearance was always the signal for great applause, but to-night the audience fairly outdid themselves. It seemed as though they were determined to give her an unusual welcome. Once, as she sang, Marion glanced suddenly into the wings. Carlotta stood there watching her, with a face that was almost ashen.
When the song was ended there was tremendous applause. Marion had never sung better, and her audience appreciated the effort.
She was encored until she was obliged to go back, and this time, just as she stepped on the stage, she caught sight of Mr. Graham in the rear of a box, talking to a gentleman.