“I thank you for what you did,” she said, in a tremulous voice, “but it would have been better if you hadn’t done it, Ila. I cut myself on purpose—is it possible that you did not guess it?”
“Hush!” said Marion, sternly. “Don’t say that, Miss Lindsay. I am glad I was able to help you, dear, but you look sick and weak. Can I do anything more for you?”
“No, thank you,” said the girl, and then she blushed furiously and added:
“Jack is going home with me. He is sorry, he says. Please don’t tell any one what happened this evening, will you?”
“I certainly will not,” said Marion, kissing her.
She would have liked to warn the girl about Green, but another look at the wan, white face quickly silenced the desire.
“She loves him, and it would kill her if she knew,” she thought. “Oh, why is it that some men are so treacherous to those who love them!”
She turned back to Mr. Everett with a saddened heart. The sorrow in this young girl’s face had destroyed Marion’s happiness for the evening.
“You are very sympathetic, signorita,” said the critic, as he watched her.
“Too much so for my own good,” was the fair girl’s answer. “It was because of my intense sympathy that I was obliged to resign my position as a nurse. I do hope that it will not also ruin my career as a singer.”