For a moment there was a horrible awed hush; then a woman in the audience gave vent to a piercing shriek, and immediately a tumult of cries and shouts filled the auditorium. Claudia, who had been almost stunned by the suddenness of the thing, had just time to see the men fighting their way to the front, apparently with some vague idea of raising the curtain off the little body, when she saw the curtain move up a few inches and half a dozen hands gently drag the body behind it. She turned to Jack. He was staring down at the stage, his face ashen grey, his eyes starting out of his head. But he made no movement to go to his wife.
“Jack,” she panted, “we must go round. Quick! Don’t you want to get to her?”
Still he did not move, nor did he seem to hear her. He was still staring down at the stage.
“Jack!” she shook his arm. “Rouse yourself! Come quick!”
He seemed to awaken with a shudder, and she drew him into the shadow of the box.
“I can’t,” he said, with dry lips and shaking from head to foot. “I can’t.... Is she dead?”
Claudia was unaware of the great weight of the curtain, and tried to speak encouragingly.
“No, no, of course not.... Jack, you must go to her.”
“I can’t stand things like that,” he whispered, passing his hand over his clammy forehead. “You know I never could.... Oh, my God! she’s dead! Fay’s dead, and I saw her killed!”
Claudia remembered that he never could stand ugly sights or any kind of illness or decay. His ordinary good-nature entirely deserted him at such times. He had refused to go and see an old schoolfellow in his last illness, and had always tried to escape visiting his grandmother, who had died slowly of cancer.
“Jack, you _must_!” cried Claudia hotly, propelling him to the door. “Don’t be a coward. Perhaps she’s only stunned and wants you. You’ve got to play the man, or I’ll never speak to you again.”
Even the biting contempt in her voice did not rouse him; but he allowed himself to be dragged like one in a dream through the door and up the red stairs.
“For the sake of your manhood and the honour of the Iversons, if not for poor Fay, pull yourself together,” said Claudia sharply, as they stepped upon the stage.
A group of men were bending down over something that had been laid on a pile of coats. Others were crowding together, talking in excited, frightened whispers. The stout lady came rushing on the stage, sobbing hysterically and wringing her red hands. The orchestra commenced to play again.