Part 7 (1/2)
The moment that she left her dressing room Polly ran directly into Esther, who was hurrying toward her.
”Oh, Polly dear,” she said, ”I hope you haven't been worried, though I have been uneasy enough about you. Do come back into your room for a moment. There is something I want to tell you that no one else must hear.”
Esther looked so excited and nervous that Polly slipped an arm comfortingly about her. ”Don't mind if anybody has said anything rude or been horrid, please,” she whispered. ”You know we promised each other not to take the disagreeable things seriously.”
”Oh no, it is nothing like that. It is about you,” the older girl explained.
Polly smiled. ”The disagreeable things usually are about me.” She looked so absurdly young and wilful and charming that Esther felt herself suddenly willing to champion her cause against any opposition.
Of course Polly had done wrong, but the mistake had been made and to frustrate her ambition now could do no possible good.
”I don't think you understand, Polly; you can't of course. But Billy Webster was in the audience just now and recognized you. He says that Mollie was afraid there was something the matter and----”
”Billy Webster's opinions are not of the least interest to me. Do let's hurry home, Esther. It is almost ten o'clock and though we can take the street car straight to your door, we have never been out this late before.”
”But Billy says he _must_ see you. He is waiting outside. He says he means to tell your mother and Mollie what you are doing unless you promise to return home tomorrow. He says that if you won't promise he may telegraph them tonight, so your mother can come and get you tomorrow. I think you had better see him.”
Suddenly Polly flung her arms about her friend's neck and began crying like a disappointed child. One never could count on Polly's doing what might be expected of her. She had had the boldness of defy opposition and to act successfully for a week on the professional stage; yet now when she most needed her nerve she was breaking down completely.
”I always have hated that Billy Webster,” she sobbed, ”from the first moment I saw him. What possible reason or right can he have to come spying on me in this fas.h.i.+on? If he tells mother what I am doing now and does not give me a chance to confess, she will never forgive me.
Neither will Mollie nor Betty nor any of the people I care about. Rose and Miss McMurtry will never speak to me. I shall be turned out of our Camp Fire Club. Of course I know I deserve it. But that Billy Webster should be the person to bring about my punishment is too much!
Besides, I can't give up my part now. Surely, Esther, you can see that. Acting a week longer won't hurt me any more and----”
”I think we had better see Mr. Webster, anyhow, dear,” Esther insisted quietly. ”Perhaps we can persuade him not to tell, or else to give you the first opportunity.”
Hastily Polly dried her eyes. She looked very white and frail as they went out of the room together.
In a secluded corner not far from the stage door they found Billy Webster waiting for them. His face was pale under his country tan.
His blue eyes, that sometimes were charmingly humorous, showed no sign of humor now. If ever there was so youthful a figure of a stern and upright judge, he might well have stood for the model.
Polly struggled bravely to maintain her dignity.
”What is your decision, Miss O'Neill?” he inquired, without wasting any time by an enforced greeting. ”I presume Miss Crippen has told you what I have made up my mind to do.”
Amiability was one of Esther's dominant traits of character; yet she would have liked to shake Billy Webster until his teeth chattered or suppress him in almost any way. After all, what right had he to take this lofty tone with Polly? He was not a member of her family, not even her friend. Just because he had known all of them in their Camp Fire days in the woods and was devoted to Mrs. Wharton and to Mollie was not a sufficient excuse.
Therefore Polly's unexpected meekness of manner and tone was the more surprising--and dangerous.
”How did you happen to come to New York and to the theater, Billy?” she queried, ignoring his use of the ”Miss.” Frequently in times past they had called each other by their first names, when good feeling happened to be existing between them.
Instantly Billy looked a little more on the defensive. ”I--I had to come to New York on business,” he explained sullenly. ”And Mollie had been telling me that she was kind of uneasy about you and that she felt there must be some reason you wouldn't give why you did not wish to come home for the holidays.”
”So you undertook to play detective and find out?” Polly announced in the cool, even tones that made Billy hot with anger and a sense of injustice.
He was perfectly sure that he was right in his att.i.tude toward her.
She had been disobedient and audacious beyond his wildest conception, even of her. And yet she had a skilful fas.h.i.+on of making the other fellow appear in the wrong.
”I told Mollie that I would call on you and Esther,” he returned, relapsing into his old-time familiarity. ”You see, I told her that I was sure things were quite all right, but I wanted to convince her too.
I didn't think you would mind seeing me. I thought you might even be glad to hear about your Woodford friends. So as Mollie gave me your address, I went out to your house at about eight o'clock. The maid told me that you had gone to the theater, told me which one. Of course I just supposed that you had gone to see a show. And that was pretty bad for two young girls! But when I got here and the curtain went up and you came out!--why, Polly, I just couldn't believe it at first, and then I got to thinking of how your mother and Mollie would feel and what might happen!” And Billy's voice shook in a very human and attractive fas.h.i.+on.