“Walters is my stage name,” the former stenographer snapped.
“Wilkins was mine—for a few hours!” Brainard laughed.
There followed an awkward pause. In spite of the amiable greeting, Brainard could see fire in the woman’s dark eyes and realized that it was not simply for the pleasure of meeting her former antagonist again that she had got Hollinger to bring him behind the scenes. He realized also from the determined bearing and solid form of the woman he had once unceremoniously locked up in Krutzmacht’s safe for an hour, that she possessed a kind of vindictive energy which might easily become troublesome to any man she disliked. For a brief moment he wished that a wayward fate had not led his steps on this evening into the Boulevard Theater. But it was so patently absurd that the woman could in any way touch him now after all these years that he easily put aside the thought. He had led his new life so long, tested himself with men and affairs so thoroughly that his early adventures in Krutzmacht’s service seemed to him more like a youthful escapade than reality.
During this mute encounter Farson and Hollinger watched the two with interest. Hollinger leaned against one of the properties of the last act in The Stolen Bonds, a slightly satirical smile on his lips as if he found much intellectual amusement in the situation.
“That’s a pretty lively show you have made out of our little affair,” Brainard remarked at last to the leading lady. “You’ve touched up the story all along and the dénouement isn’t according to the facts as I remember them.”
Miss Walters gave a little twitch to her short veil as she snapped meaningly:
“Perhaps it isn’t finished yet!”
“As our friend Hollinger has been proving to me,” Brainard continued in his scoffing tone, “Art and Nature don’t always jibe. The artist has always found fault with dull fact, and he gets his revenge upon the real world as you took yours to-night in the play.”
“One gets it somehow,” Miss Walters replied enigmatically.
“If you are going to discuss Art and Nature,” Hollinger put in genially, “let’s go to some place where we can have supper.”