Then I found myself again sitting, my arm
tingling to the clutch of Milly's fingers. In her pale, pretty face her
light eyes glowed with a fright that was not all painful.
The blood seemed to flow back to my heart as I realised what I had done.
The sudden stir in our box had called attention, and I had been standing
in the glare of electric lights overhead and at my feet, my white dress
outlined against the blood-red curtains.
"Take this fan," Milly whispered from behind me. "Will you have my seat?"
Shame dyed my face. After such a heedless act I couldn't look at the
General. I knew that, in his surprise at my appearance, Mr. Marmaduke Van
Dam had fumbled noisily with his chair, and that Mrs. Marmaduke had
dropped her shoulder wrap--she was in evening dress; how can elderly women
do it?--I knew that in spite of their rigid politeness they found it hard
to keep their eyes from me. I hoped the General had been too busy to
appreciate my folly, and I drew a quivering breath of relief that it had
had no more serious consequences.
Yet I was queerly dissatisfied. The Metropolitan Opera House is a big
building, and the part of the audience to which I could have been
conspicuous was small.
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