"That's where Gladys
Martin is acting, surely! I can't bear her!"
"She's not the only person in the cast," Shiel observed drily, "and
the play's a good one! Do come!"
With a little more persuasion Shiel gained her consent; and both he
and she enjoyed the play, or more correctly speaking, the occasion,
immensely. So long as Gladys was on the stage Shiel's eyes never once
left her; whilst throughout the performance Lilian Rosenberg saw only
Shiel, thought only of Shiel. The interest she had taken in him, the
interest she had so confidently asserted was only interest, had grown
apace--had grown out of all recognition. It needed only a fillip now
to convert that interest into something warmer; and the fillip was not
long in coming.
Shiel was seeing Lilian home to her lodgings in Margaret Terrace, a
turning off Oakley Street, when a man knocked a woman down right in
front of them. He was just the ordinary type of street ruffian--the
whitewashed English labourer--and the woman, having without doubt been
served by him in the same manner fifty times before, was probably well
used to such treatment. But it was more than Shiel, who had spent so
much of his life where they treat women differently, could stand, and
before Lilian Rosenberg had time to remonstrate, he had rushed up to
the prostrate woman, and was holding the man at bay. A scuffle now
began, in which the woman, whom Shiel had helped to regain her feet,
joined.
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