a deep window recess. "Lydia told him at dinner—it was all my fault—I'd advised her—and she was so anxious to show him he was misjudging you—she told him everything—to make it clear what your motives were. And when she was all through, he got up and left the house; he went to New Rome. She feels terribly—so guilty—but she is n't to blame, Floyd,—it was my fault entirely. I did n't tell it to her as a confidence; she called up your house and then mine, trying to reach you and warn you—but we'd gone; and she was in despair."
Floyd was silent a moment. "I guess I'll telephone to Gregg; I'll have to ask you to wait this time," he said. "Sit down here—and don't take it so hard, Marion; there's nothing to feel agitated about," he added kindly.
"I'll be with you as soon as I can—too bad that we'll have to miss so much of the first act."
She waited ten minutes for him; then he came to her briskly.
"All right now," he said. "Everything fixed. Pick up your skirts and run."
He hurried her gayly into the theatre; before they went to their seats he called the usher aside for a moment. The first act was nearly over, but the play was a rather obvious kind of farce, and it did not take long to gather up the threads of the plot. Floyd settled down immediately to the enjoyment of the performance; he was especially delighted by a fat woman with a monstrous voice and an involuntary talent for breaking furniture. Marion did not pay very close attention to the play, and would probably not have been much diverted if she had followed it; she was constantly stealing anxious glances at Floyd, trying to decide if his amusement was genuine, if he had really put aside all care, if he had perhaps, in some instant, remarkable way, done something to prevent all possibility of a clash. With a thankful heart she could at least assure herself that his good spirits were not in any degree assumed.
