uestions:
"Who's that?" "What's coming now?" The Carmen roused her to adoration,
but Don Jose was 'too fat in his funny little coat,' till, in the
maddened jealousy of the last act, he rose superior. Then, quite lost in
excitement, she clutched Lennan's arm; and her gasp, when Carmen at last
fell dead, made all their neighbours jump. Her emotion was far more
moving than that on the stage; he wanted badly to stroke, and comfort her
and say: "There, there, my dear, it's only make-believe!" And, when it
was over, and the excellent murdered lady and her poor fat little lover
appeared before the curtain, finally forgetting that she was a woman of
the world, she started forward in her seat and clapped, and clapped.
Fortunate that Johnny Dromore was not there to see! But all things
coming to an end, they had to get up and go. And, as they made their way
out to the hall, Lennan felt a hot little finger crooked into his own, as
if she simply must have something to squeeze. He really did not know
what to do with it. She seemed to feel this half-heartedness, soon
letting it go. All the way home in the cab she was silent. With that
same abstraction she ate her sandwiches and drank her lemonade; took
Sylvia's kiss, and, quite a woman of the world once more, begged that
they would not get up to see her off--for she was to go at seven in the
morning, to catch the Irish mail. Then, holding out her hand to Lennan,
she very gravely said:

"Thanks most awfully for taking me to-night. Good-bye!"

He stayed full half an hour at the window, smoking. No street lamp shone
just there, and the night was velvety black above the plane-trees. At
last, with a sigh, he shut up, and went tiptoe-ing upstairs in darkness.
Suddenly in the corridor the white wall seemed to move at him. A warmth,
a fragrance, a sound like a tiny sigh, and something soft was squeezed
into his hand. Then the wall moved back, and he stood listening--no
sound, no anything! But in his dressing-room he looked at the soft thing
in his hand. It was the carnation from her hair. What had possessed the
child to give him that? Carmen! Ah! Carmen! And gazing at the flower,
he held it away from him with a sort of terror; but its scent arose. And
suddenly he thrust it, all fresh as it was, into a candle-flame, and held
it, burning, writhing, till it blackened to velvet. Then his heart smote
him for so cruel a deed. It was still beautiful, but its scent was gone