Insensibly the day had passed into evening, and the horizontal rays of the sun were dazzling their eyes as they returned to the hotel for tea. In giving orders for this meal they had left the illustrated weekly behind, and it was now clear from the easy smiles that greeted them that the paper had been looked at and Glory identified. The room was ready, with the table laid, the window closed, and a fire of wood in the dog grate, for the chill of the evening was beginning to be felt. And to make him forget what had happened at the church she put on a look of forced gaiety and talked rapidly, frivolously, and at random. The fresh air had given her such a colour that they would 'fairly eat her to-night.' How tired she was, though! But a cup of tea would exhilarate her “like a Johnnie's first whisky and soda in bed.”
He looked at her with his grave face; every word was cutting him like a knife. “So you didn't tell the old folks at Glenfaba about the hospital until later?”
“No. Have a cup of the 'girl'? They call champagne 'the boy' at 'the back,' so I call tea 'the girl,' you know.”
“And when did you tell them about the music hall?”
“Yesterday. 'Muffins?'” and as she held out the plate she waggled the wrist of her other hand, and mimicked the cry of the muffin man.
“Not until yesterday?”
She began to excuse herself. What was the use of taking people by surprise? And then good people were sometimes so easily shocked! Education and upbringing, and prejudices and even blood——
“Glory,” he said, “if you are ashamed of this life, believe me it is not a right one.”
“Ashamed? Why should I be ashamed? Everybody is saying how proud I should be.”
She spoke feverishly, and by a sudden impulse she plucked up the paper, but as suddenly let it drop again, for, looking at his grave face, her little fame seemed to shrivel up. “But give a dog a bad name you know——You were there on Monday night. Did you see anything, now—anything in the performance——”