He caught at her hands roughly.
"Supposing I won't go?" he whispered hoarsely. "Supposing—I keep you here instead, Sophy?"
She swayed for a moment. Something flashed into her face and passed away. She was paler than ever.
"Dear John," she begged, "pull yourself together! Remember that Louise is waiting for you. It's Louise you want—not me. Nothing that she has done to-night should make her any the less worthy of you and your love."
He strode away into the farther room. He reappeared in a moment or two, his hair smoothly brushed, his tie newly arranged.
"I'll come, little girl," he promised. "I don't know what I'll say to her, but I'll come. There can't be any harm in that!"
"Of course not," she answered cheerfully. "You're the most terrible goose, John," she added, as they walked down the corridor. "Do, please, lose your tragical air. The whole world is at Louise's feet to-night. You mustn't let her know how absurdly you have been feeling. To-morrow you will find that every paper in London will be acclaiming her genius."
John squared his shoulders.
"All the same," he declared grimly, "if I could burn the theater and the play, and lock up Graillot for a month, to-night, I'd do it!"