her name was Tait."
"On the bills. In private she's Miss Fanny Berry. Her uncle is rich, but, in spite of that, she's so vain that she likes to appear on the stage. I like her, and--"
"You're in love with her," contradicted Baird.
"A trifle. Anyone would love such a pretty woman. But I wouldn't ask her to marry me."
"No, Starth will do that."
"She won't have him," said Frank, snappishly. "He's a bad lot."
"A very sore lot at present," put in Baird, smiling.
"It's his own fault," replied Lancaster. "Why can't he leave me alone. It's not the first time he's quarrelled with me."
"Because he knows you are a rival in the affections of Fairy Fan."
"Rubbish, Dicky! Don't get that bee in your bonnet. Starth can marry her for all I care. I merely admire her, and only came into contact with her when Berry wrote asking if I could write her a couple of songs. I came and saw, and--"
"And she conquered," said Darrel. "Who is Berry? I fancy I've met him before. If he's the same man, he hasn't any morals."
"We'll say principles," remarked Baird. "Berry's a fiery-tempered Tom Thumb, who talks 'American' slang through his nose concerning an interesting past of a superlatively shady description. 'Been a South Sea blackbirding skipper from the looks of him, and I expect he made his money in that way. Ever met him?"
"Los Angeles, now I come to think of it," said Darrel.
Frank looked up uneasily. "Who is he, anyhow?"
"Don't know," responded the millionaire, imperturbably. "He was running an apple orchard when I dropped across him. Clean shot, too."
Baird laughed. "Sounds like a retired pirate of sorts. But he's on the square now. He and Miss Berry have rooms in Bloomsbury, and go to church and have the entry of some decent houses. Frank knows all about them."
"Only that she's a nice woman and a good woman, and that Berry is a ruffian. He won't let Starth marry her."
"I hope not," said Darrel, darkly. "I've known Starth a long time, and he's a bounder. But he's got an uncommonly pretty sister, as beautiful and sweet-tempered as he is the reverse. Hush! Let's stick to the play; we're talking too much."
Frank certainly couldn't be accused of chattering, as he was rather silent. Even the rattling chorus and the jokes of the low comedian could not banish the frown from his brow. And he became aware that a man was looking at him--a fair-faced, effeminate little man, with light eyes and a deprecating manner. Lancaster, in no very good temper, scowled at the man, who immediately turned away his head. As he did so the first act ended amidst loud applause.
"An eighteen months' run if the other act is as silly," pronounced Baird; "but the management won't keep Fan all that time. She's as freakish as a cat, and her uncle is rich enough to allow her to snap her fingers at the Treasury."
"She _is_ a cat from the looks of her," said Darrel, grimly. "Come out, boys, I'll put up the drinks."
Dicky assented affably, as the night was warm. But Frank remained behind. "I don't want to run the risk of meeting Starth again. He might come back."
"To fetch his sister," said the big Rhodesian. "Yonder she is in a box with an old lady."
"What a pretty girl," said the frivolous Dicky, and departed.
Lancaster raised his glasses, rather curious to see what Miss Starth was like. He beheld a slender, dark girl, as unlike her brother as possible. Plainly dressed in some gauzy stuff, with a string of seed pearls round her neck, she looked about twenty years of age, but might have been even younger. Apparently she had all the unappeasable curiosity of youth, for her dark eyes roved round the theatre with great eagerness. Finally they rested on Frank, and she flushed when she found he was looking directly at her. First she looked away after the manner of girls, then she stole a stealthy glance at the rude young man, and finally became engrossed in conversation with the elderly lady who was her companion. Frank still looked. He was most polite to the sex, but this face interested him so much that he stared almost rudely. Twice their eyes met, in spite of Miss Starth's ostentatious indifference. She coloured, and he--to his astonishment--likewise blushed. There was something about her which took his heart by storm. To be sure he was susceptible where a woman was concerned, but it seemed absurd to be fascinated by a girl after a few league-long glances. Still, she was distinctly agreeable to him. Fairy Fan he admired after the manner of youth, but she was a pink-and-white doll beside this glorious creature who looked like a queen. Where could his eyes have been to admire the fragile charms of Miss Berry, when true beauty was to be found alone in a stately brunette with coils of shining hair, and eyes like fathomless lakes in the starshine? Fan had been Frank's Rosaline; this vision of loveliness was his Juliet, which means in plain English that he had fallen in love at first sight. But, as he assured himself calmly, such a passion was at once ridiculous and impossible. All the same he continued to "behold vanity," until his divinity grew really angry, and concealed herself behind an envious curtain, which shielded her beauty. At once Lancaster became aware of his bad manners.
"Hang it! I should like to apologise," he thought as his friends returned, and then considered dismally that he had quarrelled past all reconciliation with the brother of his angel, and that there was no chance of a meeting.
Starth hated Frank virulently, because Miss Berry openly approved of the young man's good looks and genuine talents. But even before Fairy Fan appeared to enchant a London public, Starth and Lancaster had never been able to meet without snarling at one another like dogs. Frank was not to blame, being good-natured and much too indolent to fight. But Starth snapped at everyone. That he should have so charming a sister was extraordinary. Even Dicky, the most critical of men, thought so. "Ripping girl, Miss Starth," said he.
"I didn't notice," grunted Lancaster, not wishing to have Baird know too much on account of that gentleman's long, long tongue. He might repeat things to Starth, who could find offence everywhere.
The second act requires no description. It was like the first, but slightly more incoherent. Fairy Fan had it all her own way, as the low comedian had not yet had time to invent his part. When the curtain fell on a pronounced success, with Fan standing in the midst of flowers, Baird bustled out to the bar again with Darrel and his chum. It was to discuss the prospects of the play that they went.
Frank did not notice that the neat man with the light eyes was following them. He was taken up with the weather-beaten Berry, who rejoiced over the triumph of his niece. He was a small man, and had a hard face that might have been hewn out of iron-wood. His lips were tightly closed, his eyes were grey and close-set, and he carried himself in a bouncing, aggressive way, which must have cost him many a fight in the Naked Lands where bounce is not approved of. Berry--Captain by courtesy--looked quite out of place amidst civilised surroundings. A pea-jacket, a tarpaulin hat, a streaming bridge and a rocking, plunging tramp ship would have been more in keeping with his piratical appearance. Why such a Captain Kidd should accompany his niece to London and play the part of a sober citizen puzzled a great many people, Baird amongst the number. But Banjo Berry--such was his odd name--always explained profusely, having no call to do so. Whereby the more astute assumed, and not unreasonably, that he had something to hide.
"Well," said this mariner, gaily, "I guess the play's a go."
"A great success," said Frank, so indifferently that the little man looked at him
