CHAPTER XLI.
A FREE PARDON.
St. James' Hall was packed from end to end one summer afternoon by an eager mob of music lovers—or, at least, of those who counted themselves as such. The last Philharmonic Concert of the season had been announced; and as one of its items was Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, the crowd was, as usual on such an occasion, a great and enthusiastic one.
Even the dark little gallery near the roof, fronting the orchestra, was well filled, for there are music lovers (mostly those whose purse is lean) who declare that, though the shilling gallery is hot, and close, and dark, there is in all the room no better place for hearing the great waves of sound rolled out by the orchestra from the Master's mighty scores. And it was for this reason that Lettice Campion came up the narrow stairs that afternoon at ten minutes to three, and found, as she might have expected, that only a few seats against the wall remained empty. Into the nearest of these she dropped, rather exhausted by her climb and the haste that she had made; and then she noticed, as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, that some one beside her had half turned round, and was looking earnestly into her face.
"Alan!"
The color sprang into Lettice's face: the roll of music that she carried dropped from her lap as she held out her hand. Alan returned her greeting, and then dived for her music, thus giving her a moment in which to recover her self-possession. When he came up again, she was still a little flushed, but she was smiling tranquilly.
"I am so glad to see you," she said simply.
"I don't know what impelled me to come this afternoon. I never thought that I should have this happiness." Then in a lower tone, "You don't mind my being here? You don't want me to go away?"
"No, no, why should I? It does not matter—here."
They had not seen each other at all for weeks, and had met only two or three times, and then for a few minutes only, since Alan left Bute Lodge in December. They corresponded freely and frankly, but Lettice had decreed, in spite of some murmurs from Alan, that they should not meet. Scandal had been busy with her name, and, until Alan obtained his divorce, it seemed better to her to live a very retired life, seeing almost nobody, and especially guarding herself against accusations of any close association with Alan Walcott.