“Indeed—oh, indeed you should!” said Harrow hastily, with a quick glance at the poet. The poet, however, appeared to be immersed in thought, lids partially closed, a benignant smile imprinted on his heavy features.
“What are you doing?” breathed Lethbridge in his ear. Harrow calmly turned his
back on his closest friend and gazed rapturously at his goddess. And again her bewildering smile broke out and he fairly blinked in its glory.
“This is my first play,” she said; “I’m a little excited. I hope I shall care for it.”
“Haven’t you ever seen a play?” asked Harrow, tenderly amazed.
“Never. You see, we always lived in the country, and we have always been poor until my sister Iole married. And now our father has come to live with his new son-in-law. So that is how we came to be here in New York.”
“I am so glad you did come,” said Harrow fervently.
“So are we. We have never before seen anything like a large city. We have never had enough money to see one. But now that Iole is married, everything is possible. It is all so interesting for us—particularly the clothing. Do you like my gown?”
“It is a dream!” stammered the infatuated youth.
“Do you think so? I think it is wonderful—but not very comfortable.”