Martha came to the door. Her eyes strained on the brooding young face, trying to read from the changing expressions which flitted across it what Sophie was thinking.
"You're coming, aren't you, dearie?" she begged.
Sophie's eyes surprised the old woman, the brilliance of tears and light in them, their childish playing of hope beyond hope and fear, amazed her.
"Do you think I could, Martha?" she cried. "Do you think I could?"
"Course you could, darling," Martha said.
Sophie's arms went round her in an instant's quick pressure; then she stood off from her.
"Won't it be lovely," she cried, "to dance and sing—and to be young again, Martha?"
CHAPTER X
It was still light; the sky, faintly green, a tinge as of stale blood along the horizon, as Sophie and Potch walked down the road to the hall. At a little distance the big building showed dark and ungainly against the sky. Its double doors were open, and a wash of dull, golden light came out from it into the twilight, with the noise of people laughing and talking.