"No, no, not a dance," he replied, resigning himself to his fate. "But once," lowering his voice, "not long ago either, when I was in town, I—I'm sure you won't believe it— I went to a theatre." This last triumphantly.
"Oh, you sad dog!" she cried. "You didn't!"
He nodded his head affirmatively.
"And what was the piece?"
"'The Sign of the Cross.'"
"What, that gruesome show, where every one's slaughtered or chewed up by lions! You ought to have gone to the Empire."
"It wasn't far from Leicester Square," he said deprecatingly.
"Not near enough to be very wicked," she retorted. "But, say, I'll tell you something if you'll promise never, never to reveal it."
"The word of a bishop—" he began.
"Oh, nonsense! You're not a bishop at present, you're just Joe. Well, here it is: I'm an actress!"