Do you really believe that all those
people rushing about down there, going to good dinners and clubs and
theatres, will be dead some day, and not care about anything? I don't
believe it, and I know I shan't die, ever! You see, I feel too--too
powerful!"
The carriage stopped. Bartley sprang out and swung her quickly to
the pavement. As he lifted her in his two hands he whispered: "You
are--powerful!"
CHAPTER VIII
The last rehearsal was over, a tedious dress rehearsal which had lasted
all day and exhausted the patience of every one who had to do with it.
When Hilda had dressed for the street and came out of her dressing-room,
she found Hugh MacConnell waiting for her in the corridor.
"The fog's thicker than ever, Hilda. There have been a great many
accidents to-day. It's positively unsafe for you to be out alone. Will
you let me take you home?"
"How good of you, Mac. If you are going with me, I think I'd rather
walk. I've had no exercise to-day, and all this has made me nervous."
"I shouldn't wonder," said MacConnell dryly. Hilda pulled down her
veil and they stepped out into the thick brown wash that submerged St.
Martin's Lane. MacConnell took her hand and tucked it snugly under his
arm. "I'm sorry I was such a savage. I hope you didn't think I made an
ass of myself."
"Not a bit of it. I don't wonder you were peppery. Those things are
awfully trying. How do you think it's going?"
"Magnificently. That's why I got so stirred up.
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