while packing her big box, she had decided to try to lodge that night with a programme-girl she had got to know at the theatre royal, and the motive that set her pace was the desire to find her before she had started for the theatre.
the girl usually hovered about mrs. maper's box. once eileen had asked her why she wasn't in evidence the week before. "lord, miss," she said, "didn't you recognise me on the stage?"
eileen thus discovered that the girl sometimes figured as a super, when travelling companies came with sensational pieces, relying upon local talent, hastily drilled, for the crowds. mary became a greek slave, or a billingsgate fishwife, with amusing unexpectedness.
eileen's next discovery about the girl was that she supported a paralysed mother, though the bed-ridden creature on inspection proved to be more cheerful than the visitors she depressed. mr. maper had sent her grapes from his hothouse only a few days before, and in taking them to the little house eileen had noticed a "bedroom to let."
to her relief, when she reached the bleak street, she could see that though the blind was down, the bill was still in the window. her spirits bubbled up again. ere she could knock at the door, the programme-girl bounced through it, hatted and cloaked for the theatre.
"miss o'keeffe!" she almost staggered backward. eileen's face worked tragically in the gloom.
"there are villains after me!" eileen gasped. "take this bag, it contains the family jewels. that bedroom of yours, it is still to let?"
"yes, miss."
"i take it for to-night, perhaps for ever. the avenger is on my footsteps. the law may follow me, but i shall defy its myrmidons in my trackless eyrie."
"oh, miss o'keeffe! you frighten me. i shouldn't like to have all these jewels in my house, and with my mother tied to her bed."
eileen burst into a laugh. "oh, miss!" she said, mimicking the programme-girl. "didn't you recognise me on the stage?"
"mary murchison!" gasped the programme-girl. "oh, miss o'keeffe, how wonderful! you nearly made my heart stop--"
"i am sorry, but i do want to take your bedroom. i've left mrs. maper, and you are not to ask any questions."
"i haven't time, i'm late already. fortunately, i only come on in the second act."
"that's nice; put my bag in and i'll come to the theatre with you." the thought was impromptu, an evening with a bed-ridden woman was not exhilarating at such a crisis.
"you ought to be an actress yourself," the programme-girl remarked admiringly on the way.
eileen shuddered. "no, thank you. scream the same thing night after night--like a parrot with not even one's own words--i should die of monotony."
"oh, it isn't at all monotonous. it's a different audience every night, and even the laughs come in different places. my parts have mostly been thinking parts--to-night i'm a prince without a word--but still it's fun."
"but how can you bear strange men staring at you?"
"one gets used to it. the first time they put me in tights i blushed all through the piece, but they had painted me so thick it wasn't visible."
"in short, you blushed unseen."
eileen wished to go to the pit, but her new friend would not hear of her not occupying her habitual box, since she knew that the management would be glad to have it occupied if it were empty. this proved to be the case, and put the seal upon eileen's enjoyment of the situation. to spend her evening in mrs. maper's box was indeed a climax.
she borrowed theatre-paper and scribbled a note to her ex-employer, giving the address for her trunk. an orange and some biscuits sufficed for her dinner.
not till she was in her little bedroom, surrounded by pious texts, did she break down in tears.
