“ ‘I don’t want to seem dense,’ I said gently, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. How can seeing my play thirty odd times be a necessary part of your plan?’
“ ‘That’s what I don’t want to tell you now,’ she repeated, and once more her hands began twisting nervously. ‘I want to wait till afterwards, when perhaps you’ll—of your kindness—do as I ask you. Oh! Mr. Trayne—for God’s sake, don’t fail me!’ She leant forward beseechingly in her chair.
“ ‘My dear child,’ I answered quietly—I don’t think she can have been much more than twenty, ‘you haven’t told me yet what you want me to do.’
“ ‘I want you to come to a house in Kensington with me,’ she said steadily.”
Once again the Actor paused, and stared at the fire. Then he gave a short laugh.
“When she said that, I looked at her pretty sharply. Without appearing conceited or anything of that sort, one has occasionally in the course of one’s career, received certain flattering attentions from charming women—attentions which—er—one is tempted to conceal from one’s wife.”
“Precisely,” murmured the Ordinary Man. “Precisely.”
“And for a moment, I must confess that the thought passed through my mind that this was one of those occasions. And it wasn’t until the colour rose to her face and stained it scarlet, that I realised that not only had I made a mistake, but that I had been foolish enough to let her see that I had.
“ ‘My God!’ she whispered, ‘you don’t think—you couldn’t think—that I meant . . .’
“She rose and almost cowered away from me. ‘Why, I’m married.’