“Where’s Constance?”
“Isn’t she inside?” asked the manager quickly.
“No; she isn’t here.”
“Oh, I sent her back to get something for me I had forgotten,” spoke up Mrs. Adams, “and she hasn’t returned yet.”
“Sent her back! Madam, you have ruined everything!” burst out Barnes, bitterly.
“Mr. Barnes, I won’t be spoken to like a child!”
“Child, indeed––”
But the querulous words were not uttered, for, as the manager was about to leave the box in considerable perturbation, there––gazing down upon them at a window next to that occupied by the landlord––stood Constance!
For a tippet, or a ruff, or some equally wretched frippery, carelessly left by the old lady, all their plans for deliverance appeared likely to miscarry. Presumably, Constance, turned from her original purpose by the noisy altercation, had hurried to the window, where now the landlord perceived her and immediately availed himself of the advantage offered.