The Force of Circumstances

She had expected the probability of such a happening, yet her face
perceptibly paled while perusing the brief note handed her by the stage
manager upon coming forth from her dressing-room. Her first impulse
was to refuse compliance, to trust fortune in an endeavor to keep
beyond reach, to turn and run from this new, threatening danger like a
frightened deer. But she recalled the financial necessity which held
her yet a prisoner at the Gayety. This writer was partner in the
gambling rooms, possibly in the theatre also; her chance for escaping
him would be very slender. Besides, it might be far better to face the
man boldly and have it over. Undoubtedly a meeting must occur some
time; as well now as later so that the haunting shadow would not remain
ever before her. The color stole slowly back into her cheeks as she
stood twisting the paper between her fingers, her eyes darkening with
returning courage.

"Where is the gentleman, Ben?" she asked, steadying herself slightly
against a fly.

"First box, Miss; right through that narrow door, yonder," and the man
smiled, supposing he understood. "Very convenient arrangement for the
stage ladies."

She paused, her hand resting upon the latch, in a final effort to quiet
her rapid breathing and gain firmer control over her nerves. This was
to be a struggle for which she must steel herself. She stepped quietly
within, and stood, silent and motionless, amid the shadows of the drawn
curtains, gazing directly at the sole occupant of the box, her dark
eyes filled with contemptuous defiance. Farnham lounged in the second
chair, leaning back in affected carelessness with one arm resting
negligently upon the railing, but there came into his pale face a
sudden glow of appreciation as he swept his cool eyes over the trim
figure, the flushed countenance there confronting him. A realization
of her fresh womanly fairness came over him with such suddenness as to
cause the man to draw his breath quickly, his eyes darkening with
passion.