Annesley walked away with his tickets, feeling that he had done a good morning's work. He had at any rate made sure of a seat near Miss Bolitho; if her companion were a man he must brace himself to eclipse that fortunate individual; if a woman, it did not matter. He would prefer the woman, for in six months a great deal might have happened. Miss Bolitho was not bound to him in any way; they had seemed to understand each other, but a struggling writer with only debts to his credit, had not dared to lay those debts and a doubtful future at his lady's feet.
During the next week Annesley's time was fully occupied, but when the great day came and the final rehearsal was over he had a few hours in which to feel that almost unendurable excitement which precedes an ordeal the result of which is not in our own hands. His part of the work was over, but would the actors rise to theirs? He believed they would, but belief is a poor support when so much depends upon it. His excitement was also doubled by the prospect of watching the effect of his work on Miss Bolitho.
Annesley reached the theatre five minutes before the curtain rose. The house was full; the gallery seethed like a hive, people were already standing at the back of the pit. A glance showed him that Miss Bolitho was there, with a man whom he had never seen before at her side. He made his way quickly to his seat and was there before she had observed him.
"You are as interested in plays as ever?" he asked.
"Mr. Annesley!" she cried. He was sure that the hand she gave him trembled a little.
"May I ask you to forgive me for the past six months? I've been working terribly hard, almost night and day."
"At a play?"
"Yes,—at a play."
"You are forgiven," she said sweetly, "because you are brave and stick to your ideals."
"I am rewarded," he murmured. A glance at her face assured him that her beauty was not less; that, at any rate, had remained unchanged.