His
ideas as to the stage and all that belonged to it were of a
primitive order. Mrs. Fitzgerald was perhaps as near as possible
to his idea of the type. He glanced incredulously at Beatrice
-- slim, quietly dressed, yet with the unmistakable, to him
mysterious, distinction of breeding.
"You an actress!" he exclaimed.
She laughed softly.
"Dear Leonard," she said, "this is going to be a part of your
education. To-morrow night you shall come to the theatre and
wait for me at the stage-door."
CHAPTER XI
A BEWILDERING OFFER
Elizabeth stood with her hands behind her back, leaning slightly
against the writing-table. The professor, with his broad-brimmed
hat clinched in his fingers, walked restlessly up and down the
little room. The discussion had not been altogether a pleasant
one. Elizabeth was composed but serious, her father nervous and
excited.
"You are mad, Elizabeth!" he declared. "Is it that you do not
understand, or will not? I tell you that we must go."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Where would you drag me to?" she asked. "We certainly can't go
back to New York."
He turned fiercely upon her.
"Whose fault is it that we can't?" he demanded. "If it weren't
for you and your confounded schemes, I could be walking down
Broadway next week. God's own city it is, too!" he muttered. "I
wish we'd never seen those two young men."
"It was a pity, perhaps," she admitted, "yet we had to do
something.
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