“Don't ask damned questions.”
Dahlia opened her eyes, staring placidly.
“Now you can stand up, my dear. Dahlia! all's well. Try,” said Edward.
She sighed, murmuring, “What is the time?” and again, “What noise is it?”
Edward coughed in a vexed attempt at tenderness, using all his force to be gentle with her as he brought her to her feet. The task was difficult amid the threatening storm in the theatre, and cries of “Show the young woman her sister!” for Rhoda had won a party in the humane public.
“Dahlia, in God's name give me your help!” Edward called in her ear.
The fair girl's eyelids blinked wretchedly in protestation of her weakness. She had no will either way, and suffered herself to be led out of the box, supported by the two young men.
“Run for a cab,” said Edward; and Algernon went ahead.
He had one waiting for them as they came out. They placed Dahlia on a seat with care, and Edward, jumping in, drew an arm tightly about her. “I can't cry,” she moaned.
The cab was driving off as a crowd of people burst from the pit-doors, and Algernon heard the voice of Farmer Fleming, very hoarse. He had discretion enough to retire.