He took her hand again, this time more gingerly and she laughed outright at his caution.
On the dressing-table was the small brown jewel-case and a glimpse of it reminded him:
“If there is anything you’d like to go in the ‘Megaphone’,” he floundered, “there was a paragraph in the paper about your having more wonderful jewels than any other woman on the stage.”
He was being unaccountably gauche; he knew this and hated himself. It did not need her quick smile to tell him that she did not wish for that kind of publicity. And then the smile vanished, leaving her young face strangely hard.
“No. I don’t think that my jewels and their value are very interesting. In the part I am playing now it is necessary to wear a great deal of jewelry—I wish it weren’t. Goodnight. I’m glad to upset the rumor.”
“I’m sorry for the bridegroom,” said Tab gallantly.
She watched him out of the room and her mind was still intent upon this broad-shouldered, towering young man when her dresser came in.
“I do wish, Miss, you hadn’t to carry those diamonds about with you,” said the sad-faced dresser. “Mr. Stark, the treasurer, said he would put them in the theatre safe for you, and there’s a night watchman.”
“Mr. Stark told me that, too,” said the girl quietly, “but I prefer to take them with me. Help me with my coat, Simmons.”
A few minutes later she passed through the stage-door. A small and handsome little car was drawn up opposite the door. It was closed and empty. She passed through the little crowd that had gathered to see her depart, stepped inside, placed the jewel-case on the floor at her feet and started the machine. The door-man saw it glide around the corner and went back to his tiny office.