"You never told me your name," he said, when she returned with the
plate of cakes.
"Give a guess!" she teased.
He looked at her for a moment. "Maggie!" he said.
"How did you know?"
"I didn't know," he answered. "You look like a Maggie. What's your
other name?"
"Carmichael!"
"Maggie Carmichael!" he exclaimed. "It's a nice name!"
"I'm glad you like it," she said.
V
He sat back in his chair while she went to prepare for the theatre. How
lucky it was that he had asked his Uncle William for more money that
morning "in case I need it!" If he had not done so, he would not have
been able to offer to take Maggie to the theatre.... They would go in
by the Early Door. There was certain to be a crowd outside the ordinary
door on a Saturday night. What a piece of luck it was that he had
chosen to take his tea in this place instead of the restaurant to which
he usually went. Mrs. Bothwell's headache, too, that was a piece of
luck, for him, although not, perhaps, for her. He liked the look of
Maggie. He liked her bright face and her laugh and her beautiful,
golden hair. What was that bit again?
_In Belmont is a lady richly left,
And she is fair and fairer than that word
Of wondrous virtue...._
and then again:
_...and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece._
Maggie came out of the small room, ready for the street, and he sat and
watched her as she shut the door behind her.
"I believe I'm in love," he said to himself. "I believe I am!"
"Are you ready?" he said aloud.
"I've only to draw the blinds and then lock the door!" she replied.
"I'll draw them for you," he said, going over to the windows and
drawing down the blinds as he spoke. "Did you ever see _The Merchant
of Venice_?" he asked when he had done so.
"No," she said.
"There's a bit in it that makes me think of you," he went on.
"Oh, now, don't start plastering me," she exclaimed gaily.
"I mean it," he said, and he quoted the lines about Portia's sunny
locks.
"That's poetry." she said.
"It is!" he replied.
"It's queer and nice!"
She opened the door leading to the stairs, and then went back to the
room to turn out the light. The room was in semi-darkness, save where a
splash of yellow light from the staircase fell at the doorway.
He turned towards her as she made her way to the door, and put out his
hand to her. She took hold of it, and as she did so, he caught her
quickly to him and drew her into his arms and kissed her soft, warm
lips.
"You're an awful wee fellow," she said, freeing herself from his
embrace and smiling at him.
He did not answer her, but his heart was singing inside him. _I love
her. I know I love her. I love her. I love her. I know I love her._
They went down the stairs together, and as they emerged into the
street, he put his arm in hers and drew, her close to him. Almost he
wished that they were not going to the theatre, that they might walk
like this, arm in arm, for the remainder of the evening. He could still
feel the warmth of her lips on his, and he wished that they could go to
some quiet place so that he might kiss her again. But he had asked her
to go to the theatre, and he did not wish to disappoint her. They
entered the theatre by the Early Door, and sat in the middle of the
front row of the pit. There was a queer silence in the theatre, for the
ordinary doors had not yet opened, and the occasional murmur of a voice
echoed oddly. John put his arm in Maggie's and wound his fingers in
hers, and felt the pressure of her hand against his hand. When the
ordinary doors of the theatre were opened and the crowd came pouring
in, he hardly seemed aware of the people searching for good seats.
Maggie had tried to withdraw her hand from his when she heard the noise
of the people hurrying down the stone steps, but he had not released
her, and she had remained content. And so they sat while the theatre
quickly filled. Presently an attendant with programmes and chocolates
came towards them, and he purchased a box of chocolates for her.
"You shouldn't have done that," she said, making the polite protest.
"I've always heard girls are fond of sweeties," he replied.
He put the box of chocolates in her lap, and opened the programme and
handed it to her.
"It's a long piece," she said, "with a whole lot of acts and scenes in
it. That's the sort of piece I like ... with a whole lot of changes in
it!"
"Do you?" he said.
"Yes. I came here one time to see a piece that was greatly praised in
the _Whig_ and the _Newsletter_, and do you know they used
the same scene in every act! I thought it was a poor miserly sort of a
play. The bills said it was a London company, but I don't believe that
was true. They were just letting on to be from London. They couldn't
have had much money behind them when they couldn't afford more nor the
one scene, could they!"
"Mebbe you're right," he answered.
The members of the orchestra came into the theatre, and after a while
the music began. The lights in the theatre were diminished and then
were extinguished, and the curtain went up. John snuggled closer to
Maggie.