But chance in this instance was not propitious. Wednesday came, and Arnold saw no way of accommodating her. He left town after taking her to see the “Fool’s Revenge” as a sort of substitution.
“You seemed to be enjoying the poor Fool’s troubles last night,” observed Dr. Kemp, in the morning; they were still standing in Mrs. Levice’s room.
“I? Not enjoying his troubles; I enjoyed Booth, though,—if you can call it enjoyment when your heart is ready to break for him. Were you there? I did not see you.”
“No, I don’t suppose you did, or you would have been in the pitiable condition of the princess who had her head turned. I sat directly back of your box, in the dress-circle. Then you like Booth?”
“Take care! That is a dangerous subject with my family,” broke in Mrs. Levice. “Ruth has actually exhausted every adjective in her admiration vocabulary. The last extravaganza I heard from her on that theme was after she had seen him as Brutus; she wished herself Lucius, that in the tent scene she might kiss Booth’s hand.”
“It sounds gushing enough for a school-girl now,” laughed Ruth merrily, looking up at the doctor; “but at the time I meant it.”
“Have you seen him in all his impersonations?” he asked.
“In everything but ‘Shylock.’”
“You will have a chance for that on Saturday night. It will be a great farewell performance.”
“Undoubtedly, but I shall have to forego that last glimpse of him.”