"Mine's Richard Carr Pendleton. My father's a lawyer. What's yours?"
"I—I don't know!"
"Pooh!" he said, grandly; "I guess you know. Don't you, really?"
She shook her head. Suddenly a light dawned in her eyes.
"Maybe I know," she murmured. "I gueth I know. He—he'th a really thtate!"
"A really state? That isn't anything—nothing at all. A really state?" He frowned at her. Her lip quivered. She turned and ran away.
"Here, come back!" he called; but she was gone.
"That will do for to-day," said Miss Dorothy, presently, and they surged into the dressing-rooms, to be buttoned up and pulled out of draughts and trundled home.
She was swathed carefully in a wadded silk jacket, and then enveloped in a hooded cloak; she looked like an angelic brownie. Dicky ran to her as a woman led her out to a coupé at the curb, and tugged at the ribbon of her cloak.