“Nell, you do not mean–?” His voice faltered.
“You must not love me,” she said, firmly; “believe me, you must not.”
“I must not love you!” His voice scarcely breathed the words.
“There, there; we are growing sentimental, Jack,–and at our age,” she replied. She laughed gaily and started for her tiring-room.
He followed her.
“Sup with me, Nell,” he pleaded. “No word of this, I promise you.”
“Heyday, I’ll see how good you are, Jack,” she answered, cordially.
“My second bid to sup to-night,” she thought. “Who sets the better feast?”
The tiring-room door was open; and the little candles danced gleefully about the make-up mirror, for even candles seemed happy when Nell came near. The maid stood ready to assist her to a gown and wrap, that she might leave the theatre.
Nell turned. Hart still stood waiting. The spirit of kindness o’er-mastered her.