She blushed scarlet and protested, “Mr. Reben!”
He apologized in haste, convinced that his suspicions were outrageous, and glad to be wrong. He added: “I’ve got good news for you: the office sale for to-morrow’s matinee and night shows a little jump. That tells the story. When the business grows, we can laugh at the critics.”
“Fine!” said Sheila, half-heartedly. Then she hurried from the theater to the carriage waiting at the appointed spot. The door opened magically and she was drawn into the dark and cuddled into the arms of her “friends,” her family, her world.
After the first informalities Bret asked, “Well, how did it go?”
“Pretty well, everybody said. But it needs a lot of work. Reben is sure we’ve got a success, eventually.”
“That’s good,” Bret sighed.
When they reached the hotel they found that they had neglected to provide supplies for the chafing-dish. Sheila was hungry.
“We’re old married people now,” said Sheila. “Let’s have supper in the dining-room. There’ll be nobody we know in this little hotel.”
They took supper in the little dining-room. There were only two other people there. Sheila noted that they stared at her with frank delight and plainly kept talking about her. She was used to it; Winfield did not see anybody on earth but Sheila.
“Kind of nice being together in public like decent people,” he beamed.