"Why, you'll make yourselves ill."
"Oh, Mr. Leroy," pouted one, "we've danced so hard, too!"
"Go to Mr. Vermont, then," was the indolent reply; "he'll give you what
you want," and with a rush they swept back on to the stage.
"Always Jasper," murmured Shelton sadly, as his friend, with a genial
wave of the hand, picked his way past cardboard castles and paper trees,
till he disappeared through the door that would lead him to his
stage-box.
At eleven o'clock the play was over; the superbly-dressed women, with
their escorts, were descending the wide staircase, laughing and
discussing the piece, which seemed likely to become the success of the
season. Outside, the pavement was filled with the gay, excited crowds.
Whistles resounded for taxis hovering in the immediate vicinity, like
steel-plated birds of prey. Carriages were being shouted for, and
throughout all the bustle and excitement, a slight girlish form doggedly
kept its vigil near the main entrance.
The crowd of pleasure-seekers and onlookers had melted away, and the
attendants were busy turning out the lights, when the glass doors swung
open again, and three or four gentlemen came out, laughing and talking.
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