In half an hour more Magdalen had changed her dress; had joined the
guests; and had soared into an atmosphere of congratulation high above
the reach of any controlling influence that Miss Garth could exercise.
Frank, dilatory in all his proceedings, was the last of the dramatic
company who left the precincts of the stage. He made no attempt to join
Magdalen in the supper-room--but he was ready in the hall with her cloak
when the carriages were called and the party broke up.
"Oh, Frank!" she said, looking round at him as he put the cloak on her
shoulders, "I am so sorry it's all over! Come to-morrow morning, and
let's talk about it by ourselves."
"In the shrubbery at ten?" asked Frank, in a whisper.
She drew up the hood of her cloak and nodded to him gayly. Miss Garth,
standing near, noticed the looks that passed between them, though the
disturbance made by the parting guests prevented her from hearing the
words. There was a soft, underlying tenderness in Magdalen's assumed
gayety of manner--there was a sudden thoughtfulness in her face, a
confidential readiness in her hand, as she took Frank's arm and went out
to the carriage. What did it mean? Had her passing interest in him as
her stage-pupil treacherously sown the seeds of any deeper interest in
him, as a man? Had the idle theatrical scheme, now that it was all over,
graver results to answer for than a mischievous waste of time?
The lines on Miss Garth's face deepened and hardened: she stood lost
among the fluttering crowd around her.
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