She staggered to her feet and began dressing rapidly. It was time that she was out of the dark, empty building. Suddenly a light tap sounded on the dressing-room door.
The woman opened it and confronted a beautiful young girl. It was “Signorita Ila de Parloa,” according to the programme, but in private life, no other than Marion Marlowe.
CHAPTER III.
CAUGHT IN A TRAP.
“Pardon me, mademoiselle, but are you ill?” asked the beautiful girl, kindly. “I thought I heard you weeping, and I could not resist speaking to you.”
She looked so sweet and innocent, standing there in the dismal place, that for a moment a flush of shame dyed the black-hearted woman’s features; then a thought of Clayton Graham and the wrong he had done her flashed over her brain, and instantly the flame of jealousy leaped again within her.
“I must fool her,” she thought in that one brief moment. “I must play my cards well, if I am to wreak my vengeance on this girl.”
Almost like magic, a charming smile took the place of her frown, for Carlotta was an actress as well as a singer.
“I am ill, but only from grief,” she murmured, brokenly. “A dear friend has died, and I have only just now heard of it.”
She turned her face a little and put her handkerchief before it. She wanted to be sure that she had perfectly controlled her features.