From then on, as long as Madge held the stage, he stood rooted to the spot, unable to lift his eyes from her. Presently her lover came in, and they started the lovely duet, "Pretty Polly, say." At the end of the encore, according to Harry's instructions, Barnaby leaned over and kissed his Polly on the mouth. A sudden and intense dislike for Mr. Barnaby at that moment overcame Harry....
The act ended; the house went wild again; the curtain flopped up and down with no apparent intention of ever stopping; ushers rushed down the aisles with great beribboned bunches of flowers. This gave Harry an idea; as soon as the second act was safely under way he rushed out to the nearest florist's shop and commandeered all the American Beauty roses in the place, to be delivered to Miss Elliston with his card at the end of the next act.
As he was going out of the shop he stopped to look at some peculiar little pink and white flowers in a vase near the door.
"Bleeding hearts," said the florist's clerk. "Just up from Florida; very hard to get at this time of year."
Harry stood still, thinking. If he sent those--would she Know--Of course she would, answered the practical Harry immediately; she would not only Know but would call him a fool for his pains.--Oh, shut up! retorted the other.
"I'll have these then, instead of the roses, please," he said aloud. "All of them, and don't forget the card."
They did not meet till after the performance was over. He caught sight of her making a sort of triumphal progress through the back of the stage, on her way to the dressing rooms, and deliberately placed himself in her path. She was looking rather surprisingly solemn, he noticed. Her face lighted up, however, when she saw him. She smiled, at least.
"Well, what did _you_ think of it?" she asked.
"I think the performance was very creditable," he answered. "To say what I think of you would be compromising."
She laughed and went on without making any reply. He could not see her face, but something gave him the impression that her smile did not last very long after she had turned away from him.
He walked home alone through the crisp March night, breathing deeply and trying to reduce his teeming brain to a state of order and clarity. The walk from the theater home was not sufficient for this; he walked far beyond his house and all the way back again before he could think clearly enough. At last he raised his eyes to the comfortable stars and spoke a few words aloud in a low, calm voice.