Arkwright's face relaxed.
“Oh, so that's what it is!” he laughed lightly. “Then it's only a bogy of fear that I've got to slay, after all; and I'll despatch that right now with a single blow. Dress rehearsals always go like that to-night. I've been in a dozen, and I never yet saw one go half decent. Don't you worry. The worse the rehearsal, the better the performance, every time!”
Billy blinked off the tears and essayed a smile as she retorted:
“Well, if that's so, then ours to-morrow night ought to be a—a—”
“A corker,” helped out Arkwright, promptly; “and it will be, too. You poor child, you're worn out; and no wonder! But don't worry another bit about the operetta. Now is there anything else I can do for you? Anything else I can slay?”
Billy laughed tremulously.
“N-no, thank you; not that you can—slay, I fancy,” she sighed. “That is—not that you will,” she amended wistfully, with a sudden remembrance of the Cause, for which he might do so much—if he only would.
Arkwright bent a little nearer. His breath stirred the loose, curling hair behind Billy's ear. His eyes had flashed into sudden fire.
“But you don't know what I'd do if I could,” he murmured unsteadily. “If you'd let me tell you—if you only knew the wish that has lain closest to my heart for—”
“Miss Neilson, please,” called the despairing voice of one of the earth-bound fairies; “Miss Neilson, you are there, aren't you?”