"I suppose," Sophy sighed, as they waited for a taxicab, "we shall spend the remainder of the evening in the usual fashion!"
"Do you mind?" John asked.
"No," she assented resignedly. "That play will end by making a driveling idiot of me. Only think for yourself! At first we had to rehearse an extra month to please M. Graillot. I never had more than a dozen lines to say, even before my part was practically cut out, but I had to be there every time. Now it has been running for I don't know how many nights, I have played in it half the time, and if your highness ever vouchsafes me a few hours in the evening, you turn to me about nine o'clock with just the same plaintive expression, and murmur something about going on to the theater!"
"We'll do something else to-night," John proposed heroically. "I really had no idea that you were so fed up with it."
Sophy shook her head. They were in the taxicab now and on their way.
"Too late!" she sighed. "Besides, my sense of economy revolts at the idea of your empty box. If Louise is tired to-night, though, I warn you that I shall insist upon supper."
"It's a bargain," John promised. "We'll drive Louise home, and then I'll take you back to Luigi's. We haven't been out together for some time, have we?"
She looked up at him with a little grimace and patted his hand.
"You have neglected me," she said. "I think all these fine ladies have turned your head."
She drew a little closer to him and passed her arm through his. John made no responsive movement. He was filled with resentment at the sensation of pleasure that her affectionate gesture gave him.