The White Wolf and Other Fireside TalesQuiller-Couch, Arthur
Science
The White Wolf and Other Fireside Tales
Quiller-Couch, Arthur
Short stories, English
And he did, though he suffered horribly. Milly found him a desperately
dull companion, but luckily her neighbours' dresses and ornaments
diverted her between the acts. She would have liked an orange; but it
appeared that oranges were not eaten in the dress circle.
Outside the theatre door in the great portico Gilbart flung up both
hands and let out a long, shuddering sigh.
"My! What's the matter with you?" asked Milly.
"Come along and have some supper."
He led her to a supper-room. "Well, you do know how to do things," she
said. But it frightened her when he ordered champagne. She looked at
him nervously. "I've never tasted it," she confessed; "and"--with a
glance around the room--"and I don't think I like it."
She drank her glassful, however, while he finished the pint bottle.
Then she picked up her worn gloves.
"Must we be going?" The end had come and worse torment must begin.
"Of course we must; and 'igh time too, if you knew what mother'll say
when I get home. You mustn't think I 'aven't enjoyed myself, though,"
she added, "because I 'ave."
Out in the street as they walked arm in arm she unbent still further.
"I shall tell mother, of course. She won't mind when she knows it's
you, because you're so respectable. But girls 'ave to be careful."
At her door she paused before saying good-night. She loved Dick, of
course; but she wondered a little what Mr. Gilbart meant. His manner
had been so queer when he said, "Must we be going?"
For a moment she waited, half expecting him to say something, meaning to
be angry if he said it. Such was her crude idea of coquettishness.
But John Gilbart merely shook hands, waited until the door closed behind
her, and bent his steps toward home.
That was in the next street. He walked briskly up to the door--then
turned on his heel and strode away rapidly. He could not go upstairs;
could not face the silent hours alone. As he retreated the front door
was opened. Mrs. Wilcox had been sitting up for him, and had heard and
recognised his footstep. He ran. After a minute the door was closed
again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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