Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. "You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. \"The servants will hear you!\" \"I don't care! Why do you?” She cried. Wood heard the cry. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one.
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