She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. Michelle winked at her and left to join the gathering of seats in the center of the theater. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. On these were thrown all the horrible contents of Jonathan's museum, together with the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. ‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide. And experience was slow in coming. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed.
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