She was sitting in her room, quite alone, with 58 her feet cocked upon a trunk, nibbling a sandwich and thinking of the supper Fairfax was to give later on in the evening, when the manager of the company came tapping at her door. People had got in the habit of walking in upon her so unexpectedly that she issued an order for every one to knock and then made the injunction secure by slipping the bolt. Rebecca went to the door.
“Mr. Fairfax is here, mademoiselle,” she announced a moment later. “Mr. Ripton has brought him back and he wants to come in.” Except for the word “mademoiselle” Rebecca spoke perfect English.
Nellie took one foot down and then, thinking quickly, put it up again. It wouldn’t hurt Fairfax, she argued, to encounter a little opposition.
“Tell Ripton I’m expecting some one else,” she said, at random. “If Mr. Fairfax wants to wait in the wings, I’ll see him there.”
But she had not the slightest inkling of what was in store for her in the shape of visitors.
At that very moment Harvey and his friend were at the stage door, the former engaged in an attempt at familiarity with the smileless attendant. 59
“Hello, Bob; how goes it?” said he, strutting up to the door.
Bob’s bulk blocked the passage.
“Who d’you want to see?” he demanded, gruffly.
“Who d’you suppose?” asked Harvey, gaily.