"No, Punch, no, I didn't mean that. It's been—great fun."
"It's sweet of you to say that."
"It's not. Don't you think I've liked it?"
I leaned forward.
"Dear Judy," I said, "very soon it will be over, and we shall go our several ways once more. And if we don't meet, as the months and years go by, when other cleverer, better men walk by your side, and glorious days crowd thick about you, throw a spare thought to the old time when you were a strolling player, and the poor fool you gave the honour of your company."
She turned her head away, but she did not speak.
"You'll not forget me, Judy?"
She caught her breath and slipped a hand under her mask for a second. Then:
"Next show, Punch," she cried. "No, of course, I shan't. You've been very good to me."
She was on her feet by now and busily arranging the puppets. I groaned. The next moment she had wound a long call upon the reed, which put further converse out of the question.