“Do you like statues?” said Mr. Parrow in a low gentle tone.
“I don’t know anything about them,” said Miriam.
“I can’t bear fireworks,” she said hurriedly.
They were in the open at last. In the deepening twilight many people were going to and fro. In the distance soft dark masses of trees stood out against the sky in every direction. Not far away the ghostly frames of the set pieces reared against the sky made the open evening seem as prison-like as the enclosure they had just left. Round about the scaffolding of these pieces dense little crowds were collecting.
“Don’t you want to see the fireworks?”
“I want to get away from them.”
“All right, we’ll get lost at once.”
“It isn’t,” she explained a little breathlessly, in relief, suddenly respecting him, allowing him to thread a way for her through the increasing crowd towards the open evening, “that I don’t want to see the fireworks, but I simply can’t stand the noise.”
“I see,” laughed Mr. Parrow gently. They were making towards the open evening along a narrow gravel pathway, like a garden pathway. Miriam hurried a little, fearing that the fireworks might begin before they got to a safe distance.
“I never have been able to stand a sudden noise. It’s torture to me to walk along a platform where a train may suddenly shriek.”