"Get up, mother," cried Jack; "do not kneel to him. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Langley is getting up, and coming this way.
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