Eve waited in the foyer, her cheeks aglow with excitement. Presently she saw Wynne come through an iron door into the press of congratulation. Half the important stage people in London were thronging round him. His composure was remarkable. Under the influence of success he seemed to have grown up and moved as a man among men. A pretty, rather elaborate girl pressed forward to greet him with adulation, and Eve noted how he touched her cheek with a kind of possessive patronage, and turned aside to speak to some one else. The action was very unlike her preconception of his character. Presently he noticed her, and nodded a smile across the crowded room.
“Like it?” his lips framed.
And her eyes flashed back the answer.
Seemingly this satisfied him, for he moved away. A little later on he noticed her again.
“Don’t wait for me,” he said. “I’m sure to be late.”
Eve walked out of the theatre alone.
“Get me a cab,” she said to the commissionaire.
“I’m sorry, madam, but there are very few tonight.”
“That one,” she pointed to a taxi standing by the curb.
“That is being kept for Mr. Rendall, madam.”