"Yes," she mumbled, gulping—"I—I know. I was watching you. H-he and Mr. Rideout wanted to fire me, didn't they?"
"What? Oh, no, no!" Matthias lied unconvincingly. "They—they were just wondering.... I assured them—"
"But you hadn't any right to!" the girl broke in passionately. "I can't act and—and I know it, and you know it, as well as they do. I can't—I just can't! It's no use.... I'm no good...."
Of a sudden she flopped into a chair, rested her head on arms folded on the table, and sobbed aloud.
Matthias shook his head and (since she could not see him) permitted himself a gesture of impotent exasperation. This was really the devil of a note! Women were incomprehensible: you couldn't bank on 'em, ever. Here was he preparing to catch a train, and not too much time at that....
But a glance at the clock reassured him slightly; he had still a little leeway. All the same, he didn't much relish the prospect of being compelled to invest his spare minutes in attempting to comfort a silly, emotional girl. And, besides, somebody in the hallway might hear her sobbing....
This last consideration took him somewhat reluctantly to her side. "There, there!" he pleaded, intensely irritated by that feeling of helplessness which always afflicts man in the presence of a weeping woman, whether or not he has the right to comfort her. "There—don't cry, please, Miss—ah—Thursday. You're all right—really, you are. You—you're—ah—doing all this quite needlessly, I give you my word."
He might as well have attempted to stem a mountain torrent.
"I wish I could make you understand this is all quite unnecessary," he groaned.
"I—I'm so mis'able!" came a wail from the huddled figure.