“Yes, thank goodness,” said Joyce, with more warmth perhaps than he was aware of; for she smiled and replied:—
“You seem to look upon it as a personal favour on the part of Providence.”
“I think it is a personal boon to all Madame Latour’s friends.”
“Oh, I am delighted,” she said, with a touch of raillery. “If ever there was a marriage that ought to have been labelled ‘made in heaven,’ that was one.”
“Yes, it was a very cheap imitation of native goods,” replied Joyce, with a smile.
“Well, if you were going to meet her soon, I should ask you to remember me to her; but as we are on a long tour—”
“I shall be writing shortly,” he interposed.
“Then that will do. Good-night, Mr. Joyce.”
She disappeared down the stairs. When Joyce turned round, he discovered that Miss Stevens had walked off, perhaps in dudgeon at having been neglected. Joyce felt sorry. She was the only girl with whom he cared to be on friendly terms outside the theatre, and who, accordingly, had manifested any interest in his doings. It would be a misfortune if she were offended. Meanwhile the late unexpected chat about Yvonne had been very pleasant. Miss Verrinder had been nice and frank, assuming from the first that he was a gentleman, and could be spoken to without restraint. Joyce felt the fillip to his spirits during the rest of the performance.
When it was over, he dressed as quickly as the crowded confusion of the dressing-room rendered possible, and refusing an invitation on the part of McKay to drink at the adjoining public-house, went down the short street that led to the Parade, where he had arranged to meet Miss Stevens.