impossible to exist there without seeing her, so I made an excuse to get away and followed."
"Let me see," put in Mr Carlyle ingenuously; "I forget the exact dates."
"Miss Roscastle came on Monday, October the 4th," said Enniscorthy. "The piece opened on the following Thursday week—the 14th. I left Kingstown by the early boat yesterday. At this end we were nearly an hour late, and after going to my hotel, changing and dining, I had just time to come on here and bag the last stall I thought that I would send a note round after the first act and ask Una to give me a few minutes afterwards. But it never came to that. Instead I got a very large surprise. 'Mary Ryan' came on, and I looked—and looked again. I didn't need glasses, but I got a pair out of the automatic box in front of me and had another level stare. Well, it wasn't Miss Roscastie. This girl was like her. I suppose to most people they would be wonderfully alike, and her voice—although it wasn't really Irish—yes, her voice was similar. But to me there were miles of difference. I saw at once that she was an understudy, although 'Miss Una Roscastle' was still down in the programme, and I began to quake at the thought of something having happened to her.
"I slipped out into the corridor—I had an end seat—and got hold of a programme girl.
"'Do you know why Miss Roscastie is out of the cast to-night?' I asked her. 'Is she indisposed?'
"She took the programme out of my hand and pointed to a name in it.
"'She's in all right,' she replied—stupidly, I thought. 'There's her name.'
"'Yes, she is on the programme,' I replied, 'but not
