“Yes, or I would not ask you. I do not count a failure at the ‘Coliseum,’” he said, smiling. “Will you come back with me and rehearse at once? I have all the people there, and we have over three hours. You shall dine at the theatre.”
“Then you were sure of me?” she said, smiling in spite of herself, and the colour crept back to her face.
“I felt I might rely upon your sympathy and help,” he returned, taking her hands and pressing them closely. “You see that I am in a difficulty, and I am selfish enough to come to you.”
“How you put things,” the girl said, flushing. “I will do my best. I shall never dare to look straight in front of me, and if I die for it I will get through my part somehow.”
“Thank you. Then there is no time to be lost. Will you let Mrs. Carroll know and put your hat on? You shall have some tea after the first rehearsal.”
Mr. Carroll entered at that moment, and as Muriel passed him, she struck a sudden attitude, crying laughingly:
“Behold Ophelia of the Coliseum Theatre!” and left the astonished novelist to receive explanation from Keene.
In less than a few minutes she was back again in a picturesque big feathered hat and cloak, with some thick, fluffy furs round her throat.
The actor’s brougham was waiting, and Mr. Carroll put her in, promising to be at the theatre with his wife as soon as possible.
Keene had remembered every detail.