“Nat, you are such a good cousin,” began Dorothy.
“Good?” echoed Nat. “Why, you don’t say so? Make a note of that and tell the others—they would never believe me. There, did you see that streak of sunshine stick to my brow? It was a halo, sure thing. But, I say, what are you going to do, anyhow?”
“To look for Tavia,” replied Dorothy miserably.
“Thought so. But where is the looking to be done this time?”
“I thought I would inquire at the office of the theatre. They might happen to know something.”
“All right, come along. I’ll wait outside. Theatre people, especially managers and those in the office, are usually very busy and won’t keep you long.”
This was said with all possible kindness, but, somehow, it gave Dorothy a cold chill. She was so afraid of facing the manager. Oh, if she only could let Nat go in with her! But that would not be fair to Tavia, whose secret, if she ever discovered it, she determined to keep inviolate. She must do it alone, and do it secretly to save Tavia from the possible consequences of her folly, should it turn out that she really was with a company “on the road.”
One more block and Nat and Dorothy were in front of the theatre where they had attended the play the day before. They stood before the great open lobby, empty now save for a few workmen who were busy with mops scrubbing the tiled marble floor. Nat took Dorothy’s arm.
“There’s the office of the manager, right over there,” he said, indicating a small door that bore no mark to distinguish it from many others that opened from the foyer. “I’ll wait here for you. Now, don’t be afraid to push yourself up front if there’s a crowd waiting for him. We haven’t any too much time.”
With all the courage that Dorothy could summon to her aid she walked up to the little door, opened it and stepped inside a little ante-room. She was in the manager’s office, and the presence of several other persons, who turned to stare at her did not serve to put her at her ease.
Dorothy sank into a chair near the door. Two or three important-looking women were moving about restlessly, awaiting their turn to pass beyond the portal guarded by a stout youth, and face the manager in his private rooms. Others, younger and more timid, sat quite still in their chairs, as did Dorothy, and the girl could imagine that they were silently praying for success in the prospective interview with one who might decide their fate. Dorothy seemed beyond thinking consistently about her own circumstances; she just sat there and waited. The youth at the door of the private office looked at her sharply. Doubtless he was wondering whether she had an appointment, or whether she was one to be allowed to enter out of her turn because of some “pull.”