"I mustn't," he said. "I must run away in a minute. But they'll look after you all right here, don't be afraid."
"I'm not," she said, laughing. "Did the manager provide the slippers?" She raised her foot coquettishly, and resented her stockings. "I'm sure you might have a cup of tea and a biscuit if you may smoke—I saw you throw away a cigar as you met me."
He was gratified that this effect had been remarked.
"Oh, that's nothing," he said; "smoking doesn't hurt."
"You say so because you like it. Well, smoke now, then."
"May I?"
"Why, of course you may, if it really isn't bad; but I always thought it was awful for singers."
"Some fools say so. Mario always smoked just before he sang—he was the only man ever allowed to smoke behind at Covent Garden. I do wish I could stop! If you knew how glad I am you've come!"
"I'm glad too," she said. "But I won't encourage you to do anything wrong. Go home, and——" She was going to say, "Think of me," but she felt that her elation was carrying her too far. "And do your best," she added. "Remember I am coming to applaud you."
He remained for about a quarter of an hour, and as soon as he had gone she took the slippers off, and spread her feet on the hearth in comfort.