And, to prove the truth of what I said, I showed her the sachet over my heart containing his rose.
“It’s perfectly wonderfull,” Jane said, in an awed tone. “You beat anything I’ve ever known for Adventures. You are the tipe men like, for one thing. But there is one thing I could not stand, in your place—having to know that he is making love to the heroine every evening and twice on Wednesdays and—Bab, this is Wednesday!”
I glansed at my wrist watch. It was but to o’clock. Instantly, dear Dairy, I became conscious of a dual going on within me, between love and duty. Should I do as instructed and see him no more, thus crushing my inclination under the iron heal of Resolution? Or should I cast my Parents to the winds, and go?
Which?
At last I desided to leave it to Jane. I observed:
“I’m forbiden to try to see him. But I darsay, if you bought some theater tickets and did not say what the play was, and we went and it happened to be his, it would not be my fault, would it?”
I cannot recall her reply, or much more, except that I waited in a Pharmasy, and Jane went out, and came back and took me by the arm.
“We’re going to the matinee, Bab,” she said. “I’ll not tell you which one, because it’s to be a surprize.” She squeazed my arm. “First row,” she whispered.
I shall draw a Veil over my feelings. Jane bought some chocolates to take along, but I could eat none. I was thirsty, but not hungry. And my cold was pretty bad, to.
So we went in, and the curtain went up. When Adrian saw me, in the front row, he smiled although in the midst of a serious speach about the world oweing him a living. And Jane was terrably excited.