Rather to her surprise he showed neither rapture nor relief. He said only: “It will be soon. I will send you word to your lodgings.”
“Soon?” she faltered.
“To-morrow, Friday — I can’t say. You need bring nothing but the clothes you stand in.”
She gave an excited laugh. “An elopement! Oh, but how shall I contrive to slip off with you?”
“I’ll spirit you away safe enough,” he said, smiling.
“How? Where must I meet you?”
“I will let you know. But, remember, no word of this to a soul, and when you hear from me do exactly what I shall tell you.”
“I will,” she promised, larger and more mercenary issues for the moment forgotten.
When she returned to the box, alone, the curtain had already gone up on the fifth act. She was still flushed by excitement, and met her sister’s look with a defiant toss of her head. Let Mary frown if she would: Mary had no brilliant future before her; Mary might consider herself fortunate if she caught Cousin Joshua for a husband. Sophia gave herself to ecstatic imaginings.
The Marquis, meanwhile, betook himself to Timothy’s and created a sensation.