“Surprised to see me?”
“No. Milly Trevor said she had seen you at the rehearsal last night.”
Wally came round the bench and seated himself at her side. His eyes were tired, and his chin dark and bristly.
“Had breakfast?”
“Yes, thanks. Have you?”
“Not yet. How are you feeling?”
“Rather tired.”
“I wonder you’re not dead. I’ve been through a good many dress-rehearsals, but this one was the record. Why they couldn’t have had it comfortably in New York and just have run through the piece without scenery last night, I don’t know, except that in musical comedy it’s etiquette always to do the most inconvenient thing. They know perfectly well that there was no chance of getting the scenery into the theatre till the small hours. You must be worn out. Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I couldn’t face the walk. I suppose I ought to be going, though.”
She half rose, then sank back again. The glitter of the water hypnotized her. She closed her eyes again. She could hear Wally speaking, then his voice grew suddenly faint and far off, and she ceased to fight the delicious drowsiness.