"I meant here," she said piqued, though the smile stayed on.
"Oh, but I understood——" His eyes wandered interrogatively about the room.
"Yes, I know my mother is out," she replied. "She is on the stage picking up the bouquets. I believe she sent you a note. I do not know why she wants to see you, but she will be back soon. If you do not mind being left alone with me——"
"Pray do not apologize, Miss Bell," he said considerately.
"It is so good of you to say so. Won't you sit down?"
The Man in the Ironed Mask sat down beside the dazzling Clorinda and stared expectantly at the door. There was a tense silence. His cloak hung negligently upon his shoulders. He held his crush hat calmly in his hand.
Clorinda was highly chagrined. She felt as if she could slap his face and kiss the place to make it well.
"Did you like the play?" she said, at last.
He elevated his dark eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"
"Not entirely. You might come to see the players."