It must be some sudden and prostrating headache that had prevented her appearance. Yet when did he ever remember Jane-Anne to have a headache when theatricals were to the fore?
The little play soon came to an end amidst enthusiastic applause. Mr. Wycherly thought it rather unfeeling of Curly to clap so vigorously. He didn't seem a bit anxious about Jane-Anne.
The plaudits were so prolonged that the curtain was raised again and the two ladies took their call. She of the spectacles and wispy grey hair dragged into a tight knob at the back, bowed stiffly and ungraciously as befitted her character, but just as she reached the wings she snatched off her spectacles with one hand and with the other deliberately blew a kiss to Mr. Wycherly.
There was no mistaking it. The kiss was for him and for no one else, and the eyes hitherto discreetly hidden behind the spectacles were exceeding dark and young and merry.
Then it was that Mr. Wycherly realised that she had not failed at the last moment, this extraordinary Jane-Anne of his. She was the lady of the bombazine manner.
When they reached the street he murmured to Curly in almost awe-struck tones, "And I never recognised her at all till the curtain went up the second time."
"So I saw," said Curly.
"She looked so old, so severe, so hard somehow and unlovely."
"For the time being, she was Mrs. Tallet, you see," Curly explained.
"It wasn't her appearance only, her whole atmosphere seemed so grasping and grim."