"I shouldn't have been surprised if you'd said that Miss Fairweather called you an angel, but when it comes to—Oh, dear, what an awful thing for one man to call another!"
"Now, see here, Mary, you don't under—"
But she interrupted him again and he sat back limply to wait for an opportunity to get in the statement that he wanted most of all to make to her—which, when the time came for him to speak, was this:
"Well, well, dear, we'll let the matter rest for a day or two. I only thought you'd be interested in the experiment—you and I together, you know—something new and thrilling. We could have a lot of fun planning and secretly watching the play grow from day to day, and discussing costumes and scenery, and meeting real actors and actresses, and seeing the inside workings of the stage, and the green room—and the dressing-rooms, and all that, you know. It's something we used to talk about and wonder about, don't you remember? Remember how we used to sit up in the balcony and wonder what was really happening behind the—"
"Indeed I do!" she cried, and her eyes sparkled. "I've always wanted to have a peep behind the scenes and—" She had the good sense to stop before she compromised herself beyond recovery—but she looked extremely guilty.
"We'll talk it over to-morrow," said he. "It might be a relief to us to have something like this to occupy our thoughts in case we—we actually have to give Kathleen up to—By the way, Dick tells me he is sailing for Europe to-morrow. I wonder what it means."
"Mr. Force? Is she going with him?"
"Yes. For three months."
She reflected. "I'll tell you what it means, Tom," she said, leaning forward to lay her hand upon his knee. "He has told her everything."
"I don't believe it!"