She shook her head.
“I am doing what I must,” she answered. “Please don't sympathize with me. I am hysterical, I think, tonight. It will pass off.”
“But, Beatrice,” he ventured, timidly, “could one do nothing for you? I don't like these performances, and between you and me, we know they won't stand your father's show much longer. It will certainly come to an end soon. Why don't you try and get back your place at the theatre? You could still earn enough to keep him.”
“Already I have tried,” she replied, sorrowfully. “My place is filled up. You see,” she added, with a forced laugh, “I have lost some of my looks, Leonard. I am thinner, too. Of course, I shall be all right presently, but it's rather against me at these west-end places.”
Again he felt that pain at his heart. He was sure now that he was beginning to understand!
“Beatrice,” he whispered, “give it up—marry me I will take care of him.”
The flush of color faded from her cheeks. She shivered a little and looked at him piteously.
“Leonard,” she pleaded, “you mustn't. I really am not very strong just now. We have finished with all that—it distresses me.”
“But I mean it,” he begged. “Somehow, I have felt all sorts of things since we came in here. I think of that night, and I believe—I do believe that what came to me before was madness. It was not the same.”
She was trembling now.