“Perhaps we can get a table together. Come on, I’ll ask Mrs. Walbridge, her box is near ours.”
Marjorie accompanied the two men to the steps leading to the boxes, but on approaching the one occupied by Mrs. Walbridge she turned and addressed Duncan.
“I won’t wait for you,” she said, “but will join Janet at once.”
“Very well, I’ll be along in a minute,” and Marjorie hastened down the narrow aisle alone.
Janet and Chichester Barnard were still sitting as close as the chairs permitted in the corner of the box, their heads almost touching as they whispered together, and Marjorie’s eyes narrowed as she took in the tableau. She had watched Janet dancing with Tom with a contented mind, and the last she had seen of Barnard he was dancing attendance on Mrs. Walbridge.
“Well, good people, thinking of supper?” she inquired, and noticed with an odd sensation Janet’s flushed face and embarrassed manner as she turned to meet her.
“Our thoughts are not so material,” protested Barnard easily.
“N—no?” and the faint irony of her tone was not lost on Barnard’s keen susceptibilities.
“Who was the little man walking down the room with you and Duncan, Marjorie?” questioned Janet hurriedly. “His face looked familiar.”
“Dr. Potter, of San Francisco.”