She lifted her eyes heavily and tried to smile.
"I—I thought you would come," she said painfully. "I saw you in the stalls."
Yorke bent over her, all the anger sped from his heart.
"Are you hurt, Fin?" he said in a low voice.
"Yes," she said. "Badly, I think. Some—some fool left the trap unbolted; or—" a gleam of fire shot into her eyes for a moment—"or was it done on purpose, eh? There's one or two here who wouldn't be sorry to have me out of the bills. Well, they'll have their wish for a short time."
"Have you sent for a doctor?" Yorke asked the manager.
He nodded.
"Doctor! I don't want any doctor here," said Finetta sharply. "I want to go home. Take me home, Yorke. Never mind what they say. Take me home, if you have to do it on a stretcher."
"Very well," he said.
The manager drew him outside.