Mignon turned red as a poppy. She began to wish she had not allowed Rowena to alter the arrangements her father had prudently made. Frowning her displeasure at the brutal taunt, she cast a half-longing glance toward the garage. There was still time to inform William that she had changed her mind.

Instantly Rowena marked the glance and divined its import. It did not accord with her plans. If she drove Mignon to reconsider her decision, it meant one of two things. To quarrel openly with her would place beyond reach the possibility of accompanying her to Riverview. If Rowena went there alone she could not hope to be allowed to go behind the scenes. On the other hand she dared not jeopardize her control over Mignon by permitting her to gain even one point.

"Don't be foolish," she advised in a more conciliatory tone. "I was only teasing you about that Stevens girl. One of these days this Armitage boy will find out what a silly little thing she is. If you are nice to me, I daresay I can help him to find it out."

Mignon brightened visibly. From all she had learned of Rowena's practical methods, she believed her capable of accomplishing wonders in the mischief-making line. "I suppose you mean well," she said a trifle sullenly. "Still, I don't think you ought to say such cutting things to me, Rowena."

Thus once more a temporary truce was declared between these two wayward children of impulse. Though neither trusted the other, sheer love of self admonished them that they could accomplish more by hanging together. Mignon, however, was destined to learn that an unstable prop is no more to be relied upon than no prop at all.

CHAPTER XXII-THE RESULT OF PLAYING WITH FIRE

"See here, Jerry, can't something be done to keep that Miss Farnham from completely upsetting the cast?" Laurie Armitage's fine face was dark with disapproval as he halted Jerry, who was hurrying by him toward Constance's dressing room. "I just heard her telling one of the girls in the chorus that her costume was 'frightfully unbecoming.' The poor girl turned red and looked ready to cry. She's been circulating among the chorus ever since she and Mignon landed in the theatre. Goodness knows what else she has been saying. It won't do. This isn't Sanford, you know. We hope to give a perfect performance here. I wish I had told Mignon not to bring her. I hated to do it, though. She might have got wrathy and backed out at the last minute. If ever I compose another operetta, I'll let somebody else manage it. I'm through," Laurie concluded in disgust.

"Why don't you ask Mignon to keep her in the dressing room?" suggested Jerry. "She's the only one who can manage Row-ena. I doubt if _she_ can."

"Might as well touch a match to a bundle of firecrackers," compared Laurie gloomily. "Can't you think of anything else?"

Jerry studied for a moment. As Laurie's helper she felt that she ought to measure up to the situation. "It's almost time for the show to begin," she said. "The chorus will soon be too busy to bother with her.

After the first act, she'll be in Mignon's dressing room. Then I'll slip around among the girls and whisper to them not to mind her. She can't bother the princ.i.p.als. She doesn't dare go near Constance or any of the boys like Hal and the Crane."

"Please do that." Laurie sighed with relief. "It will help me a great deal."

Unaware that she had become the victim of a needful strategy, Rowena was serenely deriving huge enjoyment from the brutally frank criticisms she was lavishing right and left among the unoffending choirsters. It was a supreme happiness to her to see her carefully delivered shots strike home. But her ambition to wound lay not entirely with the chorus. She was yearning for a chance to nettle Constance Stevens, whom she hated by reason of the impa.s.sable gulf that lay between Constance and herself.

Never, since she had come to Sanford, had Constance appeared even to know that she existed. This galled Rowena beyond expression. As a leader among the high school girls she had deemed Constance worth cultivating.

She might as readily have tried to bring down the North Star as to ingratiate herself with this calm, lovely girl, and she knew it. Here was something which she could not obtain. Failing, she marked her as a victim for ridicule and scorn.

The first act over at last, Rowena posted herself in Mignon's dressing room and proceeded to regale the latter with a derisive, laughing account of her fruitful wanderings among the cast. Mignon listened to her with indifference. As she opened the second act, her mind was on her role. She was hardly aware that her tormentor had left the dressing room until she became conscious that the high-pitched tones had suddenly ceased.

Mignon proving altogether too non-committal to suit her difficult fancy, Rowena had fared forth in search of fresh adventure. The star dressing room, occupied by Constance, lay two doors farther down the corridor. In pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing it that evening, Rowena had vainly ransacked her guileful brain for an excuse to invade it. Now as she left Mignon's dressing room she decided to put on an intrepid front and pay Constance a call. Her large, black eyes danced with pure malice as she doubled a fist and pounded upon the closed door.

"Who is there?" came from within. The vigorous tattoo had startled Constance.

For answer Rowena simply swung open the door and stepped into the room.

"I thought I'd pay you a call," she announced with cool complacence.

Seated before a low make-up shelf on which reposed a mirror, Constance was engaged in readjusting her coiffure, which had become slightly loosened during the first act. Her blue eyes showed wondering surprise as she turned in her chair to face the intruder. From Jerry she had already heard angry protests against this mischievous girl. Quiet Constance now read fresh mischief in the intrusion. She resolved to treat her uninvited guest civilly. If possible she would try to keep her in the dressing room until the second act was called. Better that than allow her to further annoy the other girls. As she had no change of costume to make she was free to entertain her unbidden visitor.

"Sit down," she evenly invited, neither cordial nor cold. "How do you like the operetta?"

Rather taken aback by this placid reception, Rowena dropped gracefully into a chair, her dark eyes fixed speculatively on her hostess.

Shrugging her shoulders she gave a contemptuous little laugh as she answered: "Oh, these amateur productions are all alike. _Some_, of course, are more stupid than others."

"Do you include the poor Princess among the more stupid?" asked Constance, smiling in spite of herself at this patent attempt to be disagreeable.

"I don't include it in anything. I don't even know what it's all about.

I only came to rehearsals and here to amuse myself. Sanford is the deadest town I was ever in and Sanford High School is a regular kindergarten. I suppose you know who I am, don't you?" Rowena crested her auburn head a trifle.

"Yes. You are Miss Farnham." Constance made reply in an enigmatic tone.

A threatening sparkle leaped to the other's eyes. She was beginning to resent Constance's quiet att.i.tude. "If you knew who I was, why didn't you speak to me at the first rehearsal?" she sharply launched.

"I merely knew you by sight. There are many girls in Sanford High whom I do not know personally."

"But _I'm_ different," pursued Rowena. "My father is very rich and I can have whatever I like. You must know that. You ought to a.s.sociate with girls of your own cla.s.s. Your aunt has lots of money and can give you social position. That Geraldine Macy is the only rich girl you ever go with. All the others are just middle cla.s.s. You're foolish to waste your time on Marjorie--"

Constance had received Rowena's first words with secret amus.e.m.e.nt. As she continued to listen her inward smile changed to outward, rather. At mention of Marjorie her self-imposed placidity flew to the winds.

"Kindly leave my dressing room," she ordered, her voice shaking with indignation. "Marjorie Dean is my dearest friend. No one can belittle her to me. Least of all, _you_." Constance had slowly risen, her blue eyes dark with the injury to one she loved.

"I thought that would bring you to life," laughed Rowena, making no move to rise. As she sat there, the light playing on her ruddy hair, her black eyes agleam with tantalizing mirth, Constance could not but wonder at her tigerish beauty. To quote Muriel, she did resemble "a big, striped tiger."

Without answering, Constance moved to the door and opened it. She was about to step into the corridor when Rowena sprang forward and clutched her by the arm. "You milk-and-water baby, do you think--" She did not finish. As Constance stepped over the threshold she came almost into collision with Lawrence Armitage. His keen glance immediately took in the situation. He saw Rowena's arm drop to her side. Brushing past Constance like a whirlwind, she gained the shelter of Mignon's dressing room and disappeared.

"Hurry. You'll miss your cue. I didn't see you in the wings and came to warn you. Run along. I'll see you later," uttered Laurie rapidly. His words sent Constance moving rapidly toward the stairway. His lips tightened as he watched her disappear. For a moment he stood still, then, turning, took the same direction.

"Just a moment, Miss La Salle." Seeking the stairway at the close of the second act, Mignon was halted by a troubled young man. "I don't wish to be disagreeable, but-Miss Farnham must either remain in your dressing room during the third act or go out in the audience. I am not blaming you. You've sung your part splendidly to-night and I appreciate your effort. Will you help me in this? We don't wish anything to occur to spoil the rest of the operetta. I am sure you understand." Appeal looked out from his deeply blue eyes.

"Of course I'll help you." Mignon experienced a sudden thrill of triumph. Lawrence Armitage was actually asking her to do him a favor.

Valiance rose within her. She quite forgot her dread of Rowena's bl.u.s.ter. Flashing him her most fascinating smile, she held out her hand in token of good faith. Inwardly she was hoping that Constance might happen along to witness the tableau. Laurie clasped it lightly. He was not in the least impressed. "Thank you." He wheeled abruptly and turned away.

Mignon ran lightly down the stairs and to her dressing room. Inspired by the recent interview, she promptly accosted the ubiquitous Rowena, as she lounged lazily in a chair. "You mustn't go out of the dressing room or upstairs again until the operetta is over," she dictated. "Laurie doesn't want you to. He just spoke to me about it. He has allowed you a lot of liberty already, so I think you'd better do as he says. It won't be long now until--"

"So _Laurie_ thinks he can order me about, does he?" Rowena sprang to her feet in a rage. "_That_ for Laurie!" She snapped contemptuous fingers. "This is your work. You've been talking about me to him. But you'll be sorry. I know a way--"

Her mood swiftly changing she threw back her head and laughed. Resuming her chair she sat silently eyeing Mignon with a mirthful malevolence that sent a shiver of apprehension up and down the French girl's spine.

Rowena had undoubtedly been inspired with an idea that boded no good to her. As she dressed for the third act she cast more than one nervous glance at the smiling figure of insolence in the chair.

Not a word further had been exchanged between the two when the third act was called. Mignon half expected to see Rowena rise and follow her up the stairs, there to create a scene with Laurie that would delay the rise of the curtain. Nothing of the kind occurred, however, and the last act began and went on to a triumphant end.

After the curtain had been rung down on the final tableau, she made a dash for the stairs to encounter Rowena ascending them. She had already donned her evening cape and scarf. At sight of Mignon she called out in the careless, good-humored fashion she could a.s.sume at will: "Hurry up.

I'm going on out to the limousine. I need a breath of fresh air."

Partially convinced that Rowena had recovered from her fit of temper, Mignon gladly hastened to do her bidding. It was not until she began to look about for her high-laced boots that she changed her mind concerning her companion. They were nowhere to be seen. "Rowena has hidden them, just to be aggravating!" she exclaimed angrily. "That was her revenge.

But I'll find them."

After a frantic ten-minutes' search she managed to locate them, tucked into either sleeve of the long fur coat she had worn. Thankful to find them, she laced them in a hurry and proceeded to dress with all speed. A repeated receding of footsteps and gay voices from the direction of the stairway warned her that the dressing rooms were being rapidly deserted.

Those who had come to Riverview by railway had only a short time after the performance in which to catch the last train for the night.

Taking the stairs, two at a time, Mignon made a rush for the stage door and on out into the cold, starlit night. The first thing she noted was a large part of the cast hurriedly boarding a street car for the station.

But where was the Farnham limousine and Rowena? Where was the little line of automobiles she had seen parked along the street when she entered the theatre? Only one now remained, almost a block farther up the street. Her heart beat thankfully as she observed it. It looked like the Farnham limousine. It was just like Rowena to thus draw away a little distance in order to scare her into thinking she had been left behind.

Racing toward it she saw that the chauffeur was engaged in examining one of its tires. She heard a cheery voice call out, "All right, Captain,"

and her knees grew weak. The voice did not sound like that of James, the Farnhams' chauffeur. Hoping against hope she came abreast of it. Then her elfin eyes grew wide with despair. It was not the Farnhams' car. It belonged to none other than the Deans.

Heartsick, she was about to turn away when a fresh young voice called out, "Mignon La Salle!" Forgetting everything except that she was in difficulties, she halted and managed to articulate, "Have you seen Miss Farnham's car?"