"Look," she said, indicating a man in the front seat who had fallen
asleep. "He's taking his pleasure sadly."
"Perhaps he's happier to be asleep. He may not care for the play."
"Somebody once said," she went on hastily, seeing that she was making a
good impression, "that life would be very endurable were it not for its
pleasures."
Allison laughed. He had the sense of discovering a bright star that had
been temporarily overshadowed by surrounding planets.
"I didn't know you could talk so well," he observed, with evident
admiration.
Isabel flushed with pleasure--not guilt. She had no thought of sailing
under false colours, but reflected the life about her as innocently as a
mirror might, if conveniently placed.
Repeated curtain calls for the leading woman, at the end of the third
act, delayed the final curtain by the few minutes that would have
enabled them to catch the earlier of the two theatre trains. Allison was
not wholly displeased, though he feared that Aunt Francesca and Rose
might be unduly anxious about Isabel. As they had more than an hour and
a half to wait, before the last train, he suggested going to a popular
restaurant.
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