"Stick it out a little longer, girlie. They'll feel hurt if you don't. You can telephone to the hotel if you're anxious about the boy." He kissed me lightly. I felt on the verge of rebellion. "Shall you be late?" I managed. "No--unless something breaks down on the way. I'm not on until after the rise, and if necessary I'll go on without my make-up." "Come on, Hartley!" The doctor was already at the wheel. We watched them spurt ahead. "I hope your husband's insured," gurgled one of the women.... I felt sick and wretched. I wanted to go home, even if it were only a hotel room. Home was where Boy was. I had a wild impulse of stealing out unnoticed and asking my way to the nearest trolley line. Then I remembered I had not a cent in my purse. The return of the doctor relieved my mind as to Will's safe arrival. I comforted myself with the thought that the party would soon break up. The diners across the room had joined us before the return of the doctor. There was another round of liqueurs and at last someone moved to break up. "Sid's" wife, whose tongue was getting thick, suggested that we all go for a drive and end up by having supper at Rector's. There was general acquiescence. "Let's make a night of it," was the slogan. While the others were dividing themselves to suit the accommodation of the various automobiles, Mrs. Pease and I went to the dressing-room. "Lord! Don't I look a sight?" she exclaimed, scanning her reflection in the mirror. "That's the worst of booze; it makes me white around the gills." She daubed on a bit of rouge and patted it over with a powder puff. I took advantage of our tête-à-tête and asked her if she would be so good as to arrange to drop me at my hotel on the way back. "Why, my dear, you're not going home yet; you're going right along with us." "I really must not.... Mr. Hartley wouldn't approve, I know. I have not been well and----" "Rot! You leave that to the doctor. He'll stop and leave a note at the theatre.... Doc! _Doc!_ Come here...." The doctor peeped in the doorway. "O, come in--we're only powdering our noses," Mrs. Pease called to him. "Say, look here! Mrs. H. thinks hubby might not approve of her going on with us----" "I didn't mean--" I began. "I tell her you'll fix it up with him," she interrupted. "It's fixed--long ago. I told your husband we'd come for him after the show. He'll want a bite to eat anyway, and why not be sociable? He told me to tell you to be a good little sport and wait for him." He laid an arm around my shoulders and Mrs. Pease, still busy in front of the mirror, laughed in mock seriousness. "O, don't mind me!" "Did Mr. Hartley--did my husband say he expected me to wait?"