ations, seemed almost visible. The emotion of the
audience struck the emotion of the dancers and kindled a triumph. The
man in the stalls leaned forward, and the intensity of his gaze was to
Jenny as real an offering as a bouquet. The curtain fell for the last
time and as it touched the stage, instead of hurrying to her
dressing-room, she stood a moment staring at what, for the first time,
seemed an agent of deprivation not relief. Suddenly, too, she realized
that she was very lightly clothed, and, as she walked slowly up the
stone stairs to the dressing-room, was not sure whether she was sorry or
glad.

In the crowd of chatting girls, Jenny began to call herself a fool, to
rail at her weakness, and to ascribe the whole experience to the extra
Guinness of a first night. Yet all the time she wondered if he would be
waiting at the end of the court; there had been no wave of hand or
flutter of a programme to confirm the hopes of imagination. Moreover,
what was he really like? Outside he would be "awful," like the rest of
them. Outside he would smirk and betray his sense of ownership. Outside
he would destroy the magic that had waked her at last from the dull
sleep of ordinary life. She began to hurry feverishly her undressing,
and the more she hurried, the more she dreamed. At last, having, as it
seemed, exhausted herself with speed, she sat down on the bench, and,
looking round, perceived that the other girls were well in front of her.
She lost confidence and wished for support in the adventure.

"Coming out to-night?" she asked Irene.

"If you like," said the latter.

Jenny, although she longed to be out of the theater, could not be quick
that night. As she watched the other girls leave the dressing-room, she
asked herself why she had wanted Irene to wait for her. If he were
outside, Irene would spoil it all; for, together, they would giggle, and
he would think what a shocking couple of girls he had fallen in with.
She wished now that Irene would become impatient and go, but the latter
seemed perfectly willing to dawdle, though by now they were the only two
inhabitants of the dressing-room.

"Oh, do move yourself!"

"Oh, I can't, Irene. Whoever made these unnatural stays?"

"We shall get locked in," said Irene.

But Jenny was dressed at last, and together they passed out into the
cool September night. He was there. Instinctively Jenny recognized the
careless figure in opera hat and full black coat. She drew back