And then something happened—between Part I and Part II of the picture, when the piano was going merrily, and Phœbe was looking over the audience. At first, she was conscious of a white face—a woman’s face—turned her way. Next, with a sinking of the heart, she knew the face—Mrs. Botts!
She got up and turned in the other direction. Sophie pulled at her dress, and said something. Phœbe did not heed her. To get away, that was her only thought. She fumbled for, and found, her coat, and put on her hat. And with Sophie trailing behind her as people rose to let them pass, Phœbe led the way out of the theatre to the sidewalk.
Mrs. Botts faced them. There was a cruel twist to her thin mouth. Her eyes were dancing. Her hands were on her hips. Her head was tipped sidewise.
“So-o-o!” she triumphed. “This is the good Phœbe! She comes to make trouble for neighbors. But she goes out at night with servants. She is a sneak!”
Phœbe said nothing. She was too frightened, too bewildered. She guessed what Mrs. Botts would do, and was trying to think how to meet the inevitable. But she looked at Mrs. Botts calmly enough.
“A little sneak!” repeated Mrs. Botts. “Pah!” She snapped her fingers, threw back her head with a laugh, and walked away.
Phœbe said nothing. She took Sophie’s hand and started home. The man, for once, did not join them. Phœbe did not even think about him. She was too miserable.
Sophie was also speechless, until, with an explosive outburst, as they neared the back gate, she fell to crying and talking at the same time. Phœbe patted her arm.
“It’s too bad,” she said. “You took me, and now they’ll blame you.”
“What’s done is done,” wept Sophie.