She took the card and read the name:
"Lawrence Ernscliffe."
"Will you see him?" asked the manager, seeing that she stood silent as if hesitating.
"No, no," she answered. "Tell him he must excuse me—I have to dress for my part in the third act."
The manager turned away and the beautiful actress pressed her lips passionately upon the insensible little bit of pasteboard she held in her white and jeweled hand.
"At last, at last!" she murmured, "yet I must not meet him to-night. I could not go on with my part—it would unfit me for anything. I must postpone my long-sought happiness yet a little longer. To-morrow—ah, to-morrow!"
She walked up and down, pressing her hands on her wildly beating heart as if to still its convulsive throbs.
"They say that happiness never kills," she said. "If it were otherwise I should feel afraid—my heart aches with joy—it seems as if it would burst, it is so full of happy emotion!"
She went back on the stage and a timid glance showed her Lawrence Ernscliffe back in the box looking terribly restless and disappointed. She was afraid to meet his eyes again, but she knew that he watched her through every scene, devouring every movement with passionate, yearning eyes.
At the close of the act she saw a lovely bouquet thrown from his hand, and picking it up she discovered a tiny note among the flowers.