It was at the
theatre, as he patiently summoned up each circumstance. It was at the
theatre, on the preceding night. She had come to him in the wings,
observing that he looked rather vexed, and she had given him comforting
and cheerful words, as was her wont. Surely there was no anger in her
mind against him then. But thereafter? Well, he had seen no more of
Nina. When Miss Cunyngham had come behind the scenes, he had forgotten
all about Nina. And then suddenly he remembered that he must have been
standing close by the prompter's box, absorbed in talking to Miss
Cunyngham, when Nina would have to come up to go on the stage. Had she
passed them? Had she suspected? Had she, in her proud and petted way,
resented this intimacy, and resolved to throw back to him the harmless
little gifts he had bestowed on her? Poor Nina! she had always been so
wilful--so easily pleased, so easily offended--but of late he had rather
forgotten that, for she had been bearing herself with what she regarded
as an English manner; and indeed their friendship had been so constant
and unvarying, so kind and considerate on both sides, that there had
been no opportunity for the half-vexed, half-laughing quarrels of
earlier days.
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