ficulty. She didn't want to
enter into a secret with him--with any man, this meant, of
course--against Rodney. She couldn't think of any way of stating her
reason for wanting her husband kept in the dark that didn't seem to
slight him, belittle him, make him faintly ridiculous--like the
pussy-cat John Galbraith had snapped his fingers at.

So she came, rather swiftly indeed, to the decision (she had arrived at
it before Jimmy left the theater) that she wouldn't make any appeal to
him at all. She'd do nothing that could lead him to think, either that
she was ashamed of herself, or that she was afraid Rodney would be
ashamed of her. In the absence of any appeal from her, mightn't he
perhaps decide that Rodney was in her confidence and so say nothing
about it? But even if he should tell Rodney ...

In her conscious thoughts she went no further than that; didn't
recognize the hope already beating tumultuously in her veins, that he
would tell Rodney--that perhaps even before she got back to her dismal
little room, Rodney, pacing his, would know.

It was so irrational a hope--so unexpected and so well disguised--that
she mistook it for a fear. But fear never made one's heart glow like
that.

That's where all her thoughts were when John Galbraith halted her on the
way to the dressing-room after the performance was over.

CHAPTER IX

THE MAN AND THE DIRECTOR

He said, "I want a talk with you," and she, thinking he meant then and
there, glanced about for a corner where they'd be tolerably secure
against the charging rushes of grips, property men and electricians, all
racing against time to get the third act struck and the first one set
and make their escape from the theater.

"Oh, I don't mean here in this bedlam," he explained with a tinge of
impatience. And then his manner changed. "I'd like, for once, a chance
to sit down with you where it's--quiet and we don't have to feel in a
hurry." He added, a second later, answering a shade of what he took to
be doubt or hesitation in her face, "You're frightfully tired I know. If
you'd rather wait till to-morrow ..."

"Oh, it wasn't that," said Rose. "I was just trying to think where a
place was where one could be quiet and needn't hurry and where two
people could talk."

He smiled. "You can leave that to me," he said. "That is, if you don't
mind a restaurant and a little supper."

"Of course I don't mind," she said. "I'd like it very much."

He nodded. "Don't r