An hour of it left her faint and sick, not with cynical scorn of the
spectacle, but with longing and self-pity. The crowd in the
dressing-room was thinning now, but, whether she had finished her duty
or not, she must escape. She could endure it no longer. Again she made
her way down the narrow non-angelic stairs and out at a little side
door. The night air was sweet and cold. She paused for a moment under
the light of the porte-cochère to watch the string of carriages and the
swirl of silk and laces that passed through the opening door, to listen
to gusts of music that came to an abrupt end as the outside door shut on
her.
Suddenly a figure loomed beside her, and she look up to see Dick
Percival, straight and big, with the electric light gleaming on his
white shirt-front, where his overcoat fell back. There was an unpleasant
sternness in his deeply-shadowed eyes.
"Miss Quincy!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here!"
"I was sent to report it," said Lena weakly. "I'm going home now."
"Going home alone? Nearly midnight?"
"What else can I do? It's what the other girls--reporters, I mean--have
to do."
"I shall walk home with you," said Dick sharply, and he drew her aside
into the shadow, as though ashamed of being seen, and piloted her in
silence to the sidewalk. Lena gave a little sob as he drew her arm
through his, and still they walked on until the lights of the great
house grew dim in the distance and only the quiet of the city streets by
night enveloped them.
"Ought you not to go back now? You'll lose all the pleasure," said Lena
timidly.
"Are you doing much of this kind of thing?" Dick demanded.
"This is the first time."
"I hope it will be the last," he answered glumly.
"So do I--I don't like it," whispered Lena.
"I--I can't endure it--Lena!" Lena started as she heard her name. "Lena,
come over here into the park for just a moment. I want to talk to you."
"I can't. It's awfully cold, and--" said Lena, but she followed his lead
as she remonstrated.
"And you have on a wretched little thin coat. Why aren't you decently
dressed?"
"I haven't anything." Lena spoke under her breath. Dick stamped his foot
as a substitute for a curse, whipped off his heavy great-coat, wrapped
her in it, and pushed her down on to a bench.
"Lena," he said, standing squarely in front of her, "I know I've no
right to hope for anything--no right to speak, even, when you know me so
little; but, by Heaven, I can't endure to see you grinding out your life
in this way, when there's even a chance that you will let me prevent it.
You flower of a girl, you! Oh, Lena, I love you--I love you!"