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When
at
length
the
fateful
march
of
the
cothurns
was
stayed
by
the
single
pause
in
the
play
,
and
Darrow
had
led
Miss
Viner
out
on
the
balcony
overhanging
the
square
before
the
theatre
,
he
turned
to
see
if
she
shared
his
feelings
.
But
the
rapturous
look
she
gave
him
checked
the
depreciation
on
his
lips
.
“
Oh
,
why
did
you
bring
me
out
here
?
One
ought
to
creep
away
and
sit
in
the
dark
till
it
begins
again
!
”
“
Is
that
the
way
they
made
you
feel
?
”
“
Didn
’
t
they
you
?
.
.
.
As
if
the
gods
were
there
all
the
while
,
just
behind
them
,
pulling
the
strings
?
”
Her
hands
were
pressed
against
the
railing
,
her
face
shining
and
darkening
under
the
wing
-
beats
of
successive
impressions
.
Darrow
smiled
in
enjoyment
of
her
pleasure
.
After
all
,
he
had
felt
all
that
,
long
ago
;
perhaps
it
was
his
own
fault
,
rather
than
that
of
the
actors
,
that
the
poetry
of
the
play
seemed
to
have
evaporated
.
.
.
.
But
no
,
he
had
been
right
in
judging
the
performance
to
be
dull
and
stale
:
it
was
simply
his
companion
’
s
inexperience
,
her
lack
of
occasions
to
compare
and
estimate
,
that
made
her
think
it
brilliant
.
“
I
was
afraid
you
were
bored
and
wanted
to
come
away
.
”
“
Bored
?
”
She
made
a
little
aggrieved
grimace
.
“
You
mean
you
thought
me
too
ignorant
and
stupid
to
appreciate
it
?
”
“
No
;
not
that
.
”
The
hand
nearest
him
still
lay
on
the
railing
of
the
balcony
,
and
he
covered
it
for
a
moment
with
his
.
As
he
did
so
he
saw
the
colour
rise
and
tremble
in
her
cheek
.
“
Tell
me
just
what
you
think
,
”
he
said
,
bending
his
head
a
little
,
and
only
half
-
aware
of
his
words
.
