She gave a little sigh.
“Oh, I was sure I could trust you,” she said. “I knew I could trust you, the moment I saw you.”
“Yes, it’s his face,” said Mrs. Montgomery. “Isn’t it, dearie? It’s one of those faces one wants to lean on.”
“Oh yes, yes,” she cried, “with all one’s weight. Couldn’t you bring it round to-morrow after the matinée? And then very likely you’ll meet some of my friends, and perhaps you’ll be able to remove us all.”
“But not before six,” I said, “or a quarter past.”
“That’ll do nicely,” she said. “There’s my call.”
Then she ran from the room, just as an electric bell began to sound in the corner, and Mrs. Montgomery was kind enough to tell me the quickest way to leave the theatre.
Unfortunately, however, she was either inaccurate, or by some odd chance I failed to understand her, for a moment later I found myself on the stage, just as the naval officer was about to embrace Miss Moonbeam. By a curious coincidence, too, my appearance synchronized with the dramatic utterance by Miss Moonbeam of the words, ‘Hush, Reginald, he comes,’ which added for the moment to my perplexity. For while it was possible (and this proved to be the case) that the words bore reference to some fellow-actor, it was also possible, I thought, that she might have been informing him of my own presence in the theatre. Nor could I be certain from the attitude of the audience, as it unanimously rose with roars of applause, that my recent efforts to rescue their favourite might not have become known to it and touched its heart. I conceived it my duty, therefore, without prejudicing my position, to make a courteous bow or two before retiring, and I took the opportunity of handing the naval officer an illustrated copy of Did Wycliffe Waltz?