It was her very first
play and soon it was thrilling to her so that she forgot, for a
time, even Martin. Or rather Martin was mingled with it, absorbed in
it, part of it, and she was there too sharing with him the very
action of the story. It was a very old-fashioned play about a little
Charity girl who was brought up by a kindly middle-aged gentleman
who cared for nothing but books. He brought her up on his own plan
with a view to marrying her afterwards. But meanwhile, of course,
she saw a handsome young soldier who was young like herself, and she
was naturally bored with the studious gentleman. Maggie shared all
the feelings of the Charity girl. Had she been brought up, say by a
man like Mr. Trenchard and then had met Martin, why, of course, she
could have gone only one way.
The soldier was not like Martin, being slim and curled and
beautiful, nor was the studious gentleman like Mr. Trenchard, being
thin and tall with a face like a monk and a beautiful voice. But the
girl was like Maggie, prettier of course, and with artful ways, but
untidy a little and not very well educated. At the first interval,
when the lights were up and the band was playing and the people
walking, Martin whispered:
"Do you like it, Maggie?"
"I love it," she answered.
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