"But I don't see the chaperone," he remarked.
And then the lady, who looked again more carefully, could not help observing that these seven girls were certainly not chaperoned by any one. A little wonder and a little uneasiness came into her heart. She was a very kind woman herself; she was a motherly woman, too, and she thought of her own girls tucked up safely in bed at home, and wondered what she would feel if they were alone at a London theater at this hour. Presently something impelled her to bend forward and touch Kathleen on her arm. Kathleen gave a little start and faced her.
"Forgive me," she said; "I see that you and your companions are schoolgirls, are you not?"
To some people Kathleen might have answered, "That is our own affair, not yours;" but to this lady with the cour
teous face and the gentle voice she replied in quite a humble tone:
"Yes, madam, we are schoolgirls."
"And if you will forgive me, dear, have you no lady looking after you?"
"No," said Kate Rourke, bending forward at that moment; "we are out for a spree all by our lone selves."
Kate gave a loud laugh as she spoke. The lady started back, and could not help contrasting Kathleen's face with those of the other girls. She bent towards her husband and whispered in his ear. The result of this communication was that, the curtain having fallen for the last time, the actors having left the stage, the play being completely over, and the seven girls being about to get back to Charing Cross as best they could, the lady touched Kathleen on her arm.
"You will forgive me, dear," she said; "I am a mother and have daughters of my own. I should not like to see girls in the position you are in without offering to help them."