After a little she laughed weakly. “How childish of me!” she exclaimed. “I really had no right to make such a mistake. But please tell me how you happen to be up in this box?”
“The manager was good enough to direct an usher to bring me here.”
“Well, you know, I thought this box was always given to us—to the profession, I mean. I do hope you’ll forgive me.” She seemed prepared to withdraw her interest from him then, as if he no longer concerned her in any way.
But Baron was looking at her searchingly, almost rudely. “Are you an—an actress?” he managed to ask.
Her manner changed. For the first time Baron detected an affectation. She looked beyond him, out toward the chattering audience, with an absurd assumption of weariness.
“I thought everybody knew me,” she said. “I’m Bonnie May. You’ve heard of me, of course?” and she brought her eyes back to his anxiously.
“Why, yes, of course,” he assented. He was uncomfortable over the untruth—or over the fact that he had not told it adroitly.
“I wouldn’t have talked to you so freely if I hadn’t thought you were an actor,” she explained. “You know we always treat one another that way.”
His manner softened. “I’m sure I understand,” he assured her.
