Even before she kissed her, Anne had time to notice the worried look on the girl’s face, which robbed it of its youthful prettiness.
“Oh!” she gasped. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come in time, and I didn’t know what to do, or how to get out of it. Oh! I’m so thankful to see you, Miss Page. Sit down. Do sit down—if you can find a place,” she added, trying to laugh.
Anne chose the bed as the only available spot.
“My dear child, what’s the matter?” she exclaimed. “You’re packing, I suppose. Where are you going?”
“To—America,” returned Sylvia, with a gulp.
Anne looked at her, and drew her down beside her on the bed.
“Tell me all about it from the very beginning,” she said, with quiet insistence.
“Don’t be angry with me,” implored Sylvia, her lips trembling. “I thought I’d been so clever to arrange it all myself, without saying a word about it. But—but now I’m frightened. And my contract’s signed, and I daren’t——”
“But what’s it all about? Tell me clearly, Sylvia.”
Sylvia made an effort to obey, and though lucidity was not the strong part of her story, by the end of half an hour’s questioning and explanation, Anne gathered that the girl had fallen into the hands of the manager of a third-rate theatrical company. The man had tempted her with the offer of a “star” part in a musical comedy, and she had signed a contract with him for America.