Though Browne wondered what that correspondence could be, he said nothing to her on the subject, nor had he any desire to thrust his presence upon the girl when he saw she was not anxious for it. It was plain to him that there was something behind it all—some reason to account for her pallor and her quietness that evening. What that reason was, however, he could not for the life of him understand.
They had arrived at this point when the carriage reached the door. Madame Bernstein and Foote accordingly approached them, and the quartette walked together towards the entrance.
"I thank you many times for your kindness to-night," said Katherine, looking shyly up at Browne.
"Please, don't thank me," he replied. "It is I who should thank you. I hope you have enjoyed yourself."
"Very much indeed," she answered. "I could see Lohengrin a hundred times without growing in the least tired of it."
As she said this they reached the carriage. Browne placed the ladies in it, and shook hands with them as he bade them good-night. He gave the footman his instructions, and presently the carriage rolled away, leaving the two young men standing on the pavement, looking after it. It was a beautiful starlight night, with a touch of frost in the air.
"Are we going to take a cab, or shall we walk?" said Foote.
"Let us walk, that is if you don't mind," Browne replied. "I feel as if I could enjoy a ten-mile tramp to-night after the heat of that theatre."
"I'm afraid I do not," Foote replied. "My idea is the 'Périgord' for a little supper, and then to bed. Browne, old man, I have been through a good deal for you to-night. I like the young lady very much, but Madame Bernstein is—well, she is Madame Bernstein. I can say no more."
"Never mind, old chap," said Browne, patting his companion on the shoulder. "You have the satisfaction of knowing that your martyrdom is appreciated; the time may come when you will want me to do the same thing for you. One good turn deserves another, you know."