"Now you just keep quiet, and it will be all
perfectly arranged--perfectly. Of course I know you are glad your old
friend and companion has got a place in the theatre."
"Yes, she was my friend--she was my friend once," he said, and he looked
appealingly at Maurice? "but--but I sometimes think--sometimes it is my
head--that there is something wrong. Can you tell me, Maurice? There is
something--I don't know what--but it troubles me--I cannot tell what it
is. When she was here to-day, she would not speak to me. She came and
looked. She stood by the door there. She had on the black dress and the
crimson bonnet--but she had forgotten her music. I thought, perhaps, she
was going down to the theatre--but why wouldn't she speak to me,
Maurice? She did not look angry--she looked like--like--oh, just like
Nina--and I could not ask her why she would not say anything--my throat
was so bad--"
"Yes, I know that, Linn," Maurice said, gently, "and that is why you
mustn't talk any more now. You must lie still and rest, so that you may
take your place in the theatre again--"
"But haven't they told you I am never going to the theatre again?" he
said, eagerly.
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