CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Isabelle walked Miss Watts for miles. She would not answer questions, nor discuss the events leading up to Cartel’s outburst.
“Of course, he isn’t a gentleman,” was her only remark during the entire walk. Poor Miss Watts was utterly in the dark over the whole situation. She was sitting quietly in the dressing room, reading the Atlantic Monthly, under the impression that the play was going nicely, when the terrible outbreak of Cartel occurred. One thing she grasped, and that was that the girl was suffering, so she let her alone and trudged along beside her, as well as she could.
Suddenly Isabelle called a taxi, and ordered the driver to hurry them home.
“I won’t see the Wallys to-night,” she said, as they reached the house. “If they’re home, you tell them whatever you like.”
But the Bryces were not in yet, so Matthews told them. Isabelle rushed upstairs, and went to bed, with a brief good-night to Miss Watts. An hour later Max snapped on the light in Isabelle’s room, and evidently spoke to Wally.
“The little beast is asleep!” she said. “Did you ever hear anything equal to that?”