"
For some days Arithelli had not seen Emile, and she had wondered.
Since the night she had sat with Vardri in his room, he had scarcely
spoken to her except for a few moments on business matters.
She thought he looked haggard and worried, and there was a change that
she could not define in his manner towards her. She wondered if he
knew about Vardri, if he thought she was deceiving him.
She wanted to tell of this new, wonderful thing that had befallen her,
but he had given her no chance, and she had begun to think that he did
not even take sufficient interest in her to care what she thought or
felt as long as she performed her allotted tasks and did not worry him
with complaints or questions.
The feeling of a barrier between them troubled her vaguely, and she was
glad when she found him one night waiting for her outside the stage
door.
Half an hour later he was smoking a cigarette in her room while she
brushed her hair.
They had been silent for some time, and both started when the door was
assaulted by a sudden thump, and the scarecrow-like visage of the
depressed landlady appeared in the opening.
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