"Come."
"No."
He stared down into the blue eyes: "I tell you you shall come. You are throwing away the chance of a lifetime; do you understand? If you have no care for your own future, I shall care for it for you. Kaya!"
"No."
"Come, I tell you!"
His eyes were hard and cold, and her form was slight; it reeled in his grasp. She gazed at him and her chin was set like his own.
"If you care for me, Kaya, if you are grateful—" he hesitated, "Ah, come with me, Kaya! It is not fear I see in your eyes; it is something else. What is it? Tell me!" He put his arm about her shoulders suddenly, and the harsh look left his face: "Confide in me, little one, I won't try to force you. You are slight and frail, but your will is like iron; it is useless. If I carried you it would be useless."
Kaya took a quick breath. "Dear Master," she said, "It is not the audience I fear, not the audience, but it is someone in the audience. If that someone should see me and—and recognize me!"
"You forget, Kaya; did I recognize you?"
"No, but the foot-lights were not in my face. When the House is crowded and the curtain is up, and the glare is full in my eyes, then—"