“And don’t you want to hear what I have to tell you, Jeffrey?”
“Eh?” he said. “What is it? Nothing very important, I suppose? A new bonnet you’ve seen in the Barton milliner’s? Well, you can buy it! You can buy all the bonnets in the window now, if you like!” and he chuckled grimly. “No more pinching and scraping—though we’ll be careful still, eh, Doris? We’ll be careful! Hard-earned money’s too precious to be squandered. Buy your bonnet, Doris, by all means. Come along!” and he was across the room and out of the door before she could summon up courage to stop him.
She would tell him after rehearsal, she thought, with a sigh; but after rehearsal he came hurrying to her to tell her that he had arranged to go to the next town on important business for the manager.
“I shall be back to-night,” he said, in his quick, stern voice; “in time to take you home, as usual,” and he touched her forehead with his lips.
“You will be sure to be back to-night, Jeffrey?” she said, clinging to him for a moment.
“Yes, yes,” he said, hurriedly. “If anything should prevent me——” He put his hand to his breast thoughtfully, and his heavy brows knitted with a troubled expression; then he seemed to shake it off. “But I shall be back. If by any chance I should lose the train——”
“Jeffrey!”
“I said by any chance only, and it is not likely; but if I should I will come by the first in the morning. Mrs. Parkhouse, the dresser, will see you home if I am not here. Good-by, my child! Play your best to-night! I am working for you; stone by stone I am building up the edifice of your fame——” He stopped, pressed her shoulder with his thin hand, and was gone.
Doris felt a strange sense of loneliness fall upon her. It was the first time he had left her for so many hours that his absence oppressed her for a moment or two with a sense of helplessness. Then suddenly there flashed upon her the remembrance of Cecil and his love, and the oppression vanished. How could she be helpless while he was so near to love and protect her?
Was it strange that her feet should wander from the straight road home, to the brook in the meadows? Was it strange that she should linger on the spot made sacred to her by her love until the last moment, so that she left herself barely time to dress and reach the theatre?