‘This must be the one,’ whispered Anne quickly. ‘See, he is agitated!’
She turned to Bob, but at the same moment his hand convulsively closed upon hers as he, too, strangely fixed his eyes upon the newly-entered lady.
‘What is it?’
Anne looked from one to the other without regarding the stage at all. Her answer came in the voice of the actress who now spoke for the first time. The accents were those of Miss Matilda Johnson.
One thought rushed into both their minds on the instant, and Bob was the first to utter it.
‘What—is she the woman of his choice after all?’
‘If so, it is a dreadful thing!’ murmured Anne.
But, as may be imagined, the unfortunate John was as much surprised by this rencounter as the other two. Until this moment he had been in utter ignorance of the theatrical company and all that pertained to it. Moreover, much as he knew of Miss Johnson, he was not aware that she had ever been trained in her youth as an actress, and that after lapsing into straits and difficulties for a couple of years she had been so fortunate as to again procure an engagement here.
The trumpet-major, though not prominently seated, had been seen by Matilda already, who had observed still more plainly her old betrothed and Anne in the other part of the house. John was not concerned on his own account at being face to face with her, but at the extraordinary suspicion that this conjuncture must revive in the minds of his best beloved friends. After some moments of pained reflection he tapped his knee.
‘Gad, I won’t explain; it shall go as it is!’ he said. ‘Let them think her mine. Better that than the truth, after all.’