"Yesterday Aunt Kezia was holding forth on the vulgarity of any but
grocers' assistants and 'sich-like' waiting in a queue outside a
theatre."
Down in the kitchen a scandalised Sarah looked on while they "foraged."
She held a table-cloth in one hand and two table napkins in the other.
Agitatedly she sought to thrust them upon the O'Briens, while they sat
on the table and ate cold jam-tart, bread and cheese, and apples.
Later, as they hurried out of the gate--Molly, gloveless, working her
arms into her coat--she called after them:--
"You'll be faint with 'unger, missansir!"
On the omnibus Molly discovered that she had brought odd gloves with
her.
As they drew near the theatre they were overcome with a sudden fear that
they would be too late to get seats in the front row and they scrambled
anyhow down the omnibus steps. Sheila Pat took a flying leap that
brought down upon her shouts from the conductor and from the drivers of
two cabs. The Atom, safe and sound on the curb, drew herself up with
dignity.
"Really, in this _London_ a person can't do a thing at all, without
being interfered with!"
Then they ran. When they arrived at the theatre, they found only about
ten people there before them. Denis assured them they would get
front-row seats, and they exulted.
The long wait did not seem long to them. But their money flew. There
was the poor man who tied himself into horrible knots; the newspaper
boy, who had blue eyes, and whom they thought might be Irish. When he
thanked them for the sixpence, his Cockney accent shattered their hopes.
They gave pennies to the little pink-nosed boy whose sister played the
flageolet, and to an old man who sang.
Then the move began. A very big man directly behind Sheila Pat looked
down amusedly at that excessively small, but excessively determined
young person. He recognised the fact that the Atom meant no one to push
in front of her. In the front row Sheila Pat sat her down, and looked
around, quivering with excitement.
Just before the curtain went up Ted Lancaster strolled into the stalls,
and sat down in front of the Atom. She bent forward and dug eager
little fingers into his shoulder.
"Won't you be speakin' to me at all, then, Mr. Lancaster?"
He turned.
"Why, it's my lit--my Irish friend! How-do-you-do, Miss O'Brien?"
"Oh, please," said Sheila Pat, "is there anyone _Irish_ in the play?"
"I'm afraid not. But you'll lose your heart to Monsieur Beaucaire,
though he's only a Frenchman!"
She shook an obstinate head.
"I won't!"
At the end of the first act he turned to her. A little faint pink
colour dyed her cheeks, her eyes were wide and bright.
"Well? How about your heart?"
"I--I _haven't_! I won't!"
"I love him!" said Molly. "And oh, I _loathe_ that wicked Duke of
Winterset!"
When the curtain went down at the end of the first scene of the second
act, he turned to her again. Her eyes were brighter, her cheeks pinker
than before. She refused to look at him.
"It's only two minutes," Ted said. "Miss Sheila Patricia?" he finished
with an uplifting of brows.
"I--I _haven't_! You are a very intruding boy!"
The curtain went up, and he turned away.
The moment when she finally and absolutely and openly capitulated was
when Monsieur Beaucaire came down the stairs, taking the old Countess of
Greenbury to supper. In the midst of the storm of applause, one ecstatic
little voice rang out.
"He's _worthy_ to be Irish, anyway!"
As they went out Molly managed to become separated from them and lost.
Denis said, "You stay out here with Lancaster," and plunged back into
the crowd.
Sheila Pat, excited, too restless to stand still, plunged eagerly after
him.
Nell was left standing with Ted. Now Ted Lancaster was possessed of
some physical attributes that particularly displeased Nell, as being so
ridiculously untrue to his character. She fell to pondering the
strength of his rather thin mouth and of his chin; on the look of
cleverness about his deep-set eyes. The very breadth of his shoulders
displeased her. She told herself that a slack creature such as he must
be, who lounged about and did nothing except drive in a motor, had no
business with a face like his. Irritatedly she fought against a strong
inclination to like him.
"Isn't your motor waiting for you?" she broke the silence in a bland
tone of voice.
"No." He sounded a little surprised. "There're always hansoms, you
know," he added.
"Oh! But you prefer your motor, don't you?"
He gave her a quick, shrewd glance; there was just the suspicion of a
smile at the corners of his lips as he answered carelessly:--
"Well, they get you along quicker, you know."
"Yes," she said, "and of course when you've a lot to do--when you are
very busy--that's a consideration."
There was a little pause. She glanced at him and smiled maliciously.
He had flushed a little.
"Yes," he agreed nonchalantly.
She watched three women frantically tearing about in search of a hansom,
but she was thinking of Ted. What a cool voice he had! She wasn't sure
that it wasn't impertinent. And as for his looking tired and ill--well,
of course he would, living an unhealthy, self-indulgent, lazy life.
Suddenly she began to contrast his mode of life with Denis's before they
had left Kilbrannan. Impulsively she spoke her thoughts aloud, keeping,
in actual words, only to Denis, his prowess in the hunting field,
football, and so on; but her expressive voice and face pointed the
moral, drew the contrast, as plainly as if she had spoken it. There was
another pause when she stopped.
Then Denis appeared with the others. The relief in her welcome was
unmistakable.
"Got her! She was rushing off in a frenzy straight for the North Pole!
You're not going, Lancaster? Rot! Come along with us, old chap, and be
introduced to Jimmy O'Driscoll."
Ted glanced at Nell; it was an odd glance, and his mouth twisted in a
sudden dry smile.
"Yes, won't you?" she said carelessly.
"Thanks, no, I've to meet a fellow!"
He raised his hat and walked away.
Sarah let them in at No. 35. She looked scared and spoke in a loud
whisper.
"Oh, missansir, there's been murder done as sure as my name's Sarah
Jones! Hush! She's in! The poor little dog! Its dying 'owls were
pitiful! I allus knew that unchristian monkey-thing would do us a
'arm!"
She managed to work on their feelings to a certain extent, although they
knew that Jim had conceived a deep affection for Kate Kearney, which
that young person returned with a disdainful and bullying sort of
tolerance. They hurried up to the Stronghold, Denis produced the key,
and they opened the door. The room presented a somewhat chaotic
appearance; bits of Denis's slippers strewed the floor; a fur rug
distributed itself in bunches round the room; the table-cloth had been
pulled off, and with it various books, papers, and a bowl of
chrysanthemums. With the chaos a dead silence greeted them; they could
see neither Kate Kearney nor Jim O'Driscoll.