She drew it gently away.
“Don’t, please don’t. Please don’t spoil things.”
He did not speak for some time, while she apparently again became absorbed in the spectacle.
“I suppose you’re very fond of Maddison?” he asked by and by.
“Fond of him? What a curious question to ask! Of course I am. Very.”
“Somehow—I thought you weren’t. I—hoped you weren’t.”
“I am.” Then turning full toward him, she said earnestly: “Why must you spoil things by talking this way? What can you think of me?”
“Think of you? You make me afraid to tell you what I think of you. I—won’t say anything more—I’ll be good.”
To a crash and uproar of applause the curtain fell and Marian quickly rose.
“I don’t want to see anything more. That was beautiful. Will you put me into a hansom?”