She gave him a dark bright glance.
"Sometimes, maybe. Now the sun is setting, will you see me to my chair?"
They made slow way back through the thinning crowd.
Mrs. Beale was suddenly gay.
"What flowers will you bring me to-night? When last I played Statira, Lord Sandys sent me more yellow roses than I could wear in a month. The Fenton was furious; but you, nothing from you!"
"I was in Kent." His words were the merest excuse, but his eyes made amends. "I will redeem myself to-night."
Her lids drooped.
"Whatever you may send I will wear."
He sighed.
"What can London yield fair enough?"