asculine. "Poor little thing: she's tired. Poor little thing."

iii

In the middle of this hot, excitedly-talking audience, they seemed to
bask as in a warm pool of brilliant light. The brilliants in the dome of
the theatre intensified all the shadows, heightened all the smiles,
illumined all the silken blouses and silver bangles, the flashing eyes,
the general air of fete.

"All right?" Alf inquired protectively. Emmy looked in gratitude towards
him.

"Lovely," she said. "Have another?"

"I meant _you_," he persisted. "Yourself, I mean." Emmy smiled, so
happily that nobody could have been unmoved at the knowledge of having
given such pleasure.

"Oh, grand!" Emmy said. Then her eyes contracted. Memory came to her.
The angry scene that had passed earlier returned to her mind, hurting
her, and injuring her happiness. Alf hurried to engage her attention, to
distract her from thoughts that had in them such discomfort as she so
quickly showed.

"Like the play? I didn't quite follow what it was this old general had
done to him. Did you?"

"Hadn't he kept him from marrying ..." Emmy looked conscious for a
moment. "Marrying the right girl? I didn't understand it either. It's
only a play."

"Of course," Alf agreed. "See how that girl's eyes shone when old
fur-coat went after her? Fair shone, they did. Like lamps. They'd got
the limes on her... You couldn't see them. My--er--my friend's the
electrician here. He says it drives him nearly crazy, the way he has to
follow her about in the third act. She... she's got some pluck, he says;
the way she fights three of them single-handed. They've all got
revolvers. She's got one; but it's not loaded. Lights a cigarette, too,
with them all watching her, ready to rush at her."

"There!" said Emmy, admiringly. She was thinking: "It's only a play."

"She gets hold of his fur coat, and puts it on.... Imitates his
voice.... You can see it's her all the time, you know. So could they, if
they looked a bit nearer. However, they don't.... I suppose there
wouldn't be any play if they did...."

Emmy was not listening to him: she was dreaming. She was as gauche and
simple in his company as a young girl would have been; but her mind was
different. It was practical in its dreams, and they had their disturbing
unhappiness, as well, from the greater poignancy of her desire. She was
not a young girl, to be agreeably fluttered and to pass on to the next
admirer without a qualm. She loved h