a picture, looking up at her.
But she had already turned, and was hurrying away towards the mouth of the exit-tunnel.
Owen came running after her, flustered, and drawn in all directions.
“Really going!” he said in chagrin, as she came to the high, vaulted exit-tunnel.
“I must. I’ve got to get out,” she cried. “Don’t you come.”
“Really!” he echoed, torn all ways.
The scene was creating a very hostile attitude in the audience. To leave the bull-fight is a national insult.
“Don’t come! Really! I shall take a tram-car,” she said hurriedly.
“Really! Do you really think you’ll be all right?”
“Perfectly. You stay. Goodbye! I can’t smell any more of this stink.”
He turned like Orpheus looking back into hell, and wavering made towards his seat again.
It was not so easy, because many people were now