“You’ve had a fine wait,” she said.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, for the first time speaking to her in a tone that smacked of authority.
“Working and earning money,” she answered—“money that you ought to give me.”
“Working? Where?”
“In the theatre—the great Titania. Bah! You never even heard of it. Do you know where Broadway is?”
He did not resent her scornful words. The motive for killing her having passed, he was again her blind worshipper. Producing her latchkey she opened the door.
“Come in,” she said. “I have something to say to you.” And when they had entered the flat: “You must come to the theatre and walk home with me every night after the representation. At the stage door you must wait. There are beasts who will not let a woman be when she is alone at night. I have been annoyed enough.”
“Who has annoyed you?” said Bertino, springing up and putting his hand in the stiletto pocket, now as eager to slay the offender as he had been to knife her a few minutes before.
“No matter. To-morrow night and every night you be there at the stage door.”