Now, although Mr. Wycherly had seen her dance hundreds of times, he had never seen her act. He could not screw his courage to the point of facing the crowd of parents assembled at the school theatricals, and Mrs. Methuen had never yet induced him to come and see the little plays she was so fond of getting up in aid of various charities.
This time, however, wearied by Curly's importunities and fortified by his company, he was persuaded, and found himself seated in front of a red curtain, in the second row of chairs, while, pince-nez on nose, he studied a programme which bore the legend "A Joint Household."
Jane-Anne had gone to lunch with Mrs. Methuen so as to be ready for the play which came fairly early in the afternoon.
The noisy piano ceased, the curtain was rung up, and the two ladies, who, with their husbands, had agreed to share a house for the summer holidays, one after the other appeared upon the scene.
Mrs. Methuen was unmistakable; pretty, eager, much concerned for the future comfort of her absent lord.
But the other——
Mr. Wycherly was both disappointed and bewildered.
Something must have happened to Jane-Anne. Could she be ill? This tall, angular person in spectacles, with what he secretly stigmatized as a "bombazine manner," must be some elderly lady imported at the last moment to play the part. That she played it uncommonly well did not concern Mr. Wycherly; he was anxious about Jane-Anne.
What could have happened to the child?
The play was quite amusing. The lady with the bombazine manner raised a laugh whenever she opened her lips, but Mr. Wycherly couldn't feel interested. He was worried.