McTaggart felt a sudden thirst, but dare not leave the sheltering box unaware whether Mr. Cadell would take advantage of the entr'acte.
Fantine turned and smiled at him, tears not far from the topaz eyes, a faint colour in her face, soft with the pleasure of the music.
"Like it?" He knew as he said the words that the question was superfluous, and went on a little quickly, full of his own immediate cares.
"We'll have supper at the Savoy—it's sure to be packed to-night." He drew out his watch as he spoke, and glanced at it with a slight frown. "Jove! it's getting pretty late..."
Fantine smiled, resigning herself. She knew exactly what he wanted, guessing him bored by the music.
"Would you like to go before the end? After all"—she checked a sigh—"one knows by heart the tragic story. We could slip out before the finale."
The man brightened visibly.
"Well, you see—it's like this—I haven't reserved a table to-night. We shall have to take our chance, so we'd better be there before the rush."
He still avoided the front of the box, conscious of his neighbour's eyes, but, now that the danger seemed averted, he felt a mischievous delight. He could picture Cydonia, very correct, in her white frock and string of pearls, with her inevitable "Isn't it nice?" addressed to the somewhat bored parent.
And at the thought a slight shame ran through him; the knowledge, too, of all the young girl represented in his somewhat aimless life.