Billy did not mean that any one should know she was crying. She supposed that all the performers except herself and the two earth-bound fairies by the piano with Alice Greggory were gone. She knew that John with Peggy was probably waiting at the door outside, and she hoped that soon the fairies would decide to go home and go to bed, and let other people do the same. For her part, she did not see why they were struggling so hard, anyway. Why needn't they go ahead and sing their duet like two solos if they wanted to? As if a little thing like that could make a feather's weight of difference in the grand total of to-morrow night's wretchedness when the final curtain should have been rung down on their shame!
“Miss Neilson, you aren't—crying!” exclaimed a low voice; and Billy turned to find Arkwright standing by her side in the dim light.
“Oh, no—yes—well, maybe I was, a little,” stammered Billy, trying to speak very unconcernedly. “How warm it is in here! Do you think it's going to rain?—that is, outdoors, of course, I mean.”
Arkwright dropped into the seat behind Billy and leaned forward, his eyes striving to read the girl's half-averted face. If Billy had turned, she would have seen that Arkwright's own face showed white and a little drawn-looking in the feeble rays from the light by the piano. But Billy did not turn. She kept her eyes steadily averted; and she went on speaking—airy, inconsequential words.
“Dear me, if those girls would only pull together! But then, what's the difference? I supposed you had gone home long ago, Mr. Arkwright.”
“Miss Neilson, you are crying!” Arkwright's voice was low and vibrant. “As if anything or anybody in the world could make you cry! Please—you have only to command me, and I will sally forth at once to slay the offender.” His words were light, but his voice still shook with emotion.
Billy gave an hysterical little giggle. Angrily she brushed the persistent tears from her eyes.
“All right, then; I'll dub you my Sir Knight,” she faltered. “But I'll warn you—you'll have your hands full. You'll have to slay my headache, and my throat-ache, and my shoe that hurts, and the man who stepped on my dress, and—and everybody in the operetta, including myself.”
“Everybody—in the operetta!” Arkwright did look a little startled, at this wholesale slaughter.
“Yes. Did you ever see such an awful, awful thing as that was to-night?” moaned the girl.