The shabby,
violent-coloured place encompassed him like an easy garment, and the
lady, with her feet tucked up in a sofa and a cushion under her tumbled
head, was an unembarrassing invitation to the kind of happy things he
had not said for years. They sat in the coolness of the room for half an
hour, and then, after a little pause, Hilda said suddenly,
"I am glad you saw me in _The Offence of Galilee_ on Saturday night. We
shall not play it again."
"It has been withdrawn?"
"Yes. The rights, you know, really belong to Mr. Bradley; and he can't
endure his part."
"Is there no one else to--"
"He objects to anyone else. We generally play together." This was
inadvertent, but Stephen had no reason to imagine that she contracted
her eyebrows in any special irritation. "It is an atrocious piece," she
added.
"Is it?" he said, absently, and then, "Yes, it is an atrocious piece.
But I am glad, too, that I saw you." He looked away from her, reddening
deeply, and stood up. His bands fell upon him again, he bade her a
measured and precise farewell. It seemed as if he hurried. She only half
rose to give him her unwounded hand, and when he was gone she sank back
again thoughtfully.
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