t this! In Jane Oglethorpe's box! It is in the nature of an invasion.
You hardly could have done more if you had forced yourself into a
drawing-room uninvited. You must either come out tomorrow and tell them
who you are, establish yourself . . . or . . . or----"

"Well?" Madame Zattiany was smiling, and, probably, the most serene
person in the house.

"I--I--think you had better go back to Europe. I must be frank.
Anything less would be cowardly. You interest me too much. . . . But I
can only suppose that your secret is of the sort that if discovered--and
they will discover it!--would cause you grave embarrassment."

"You mean if I am Mary Zattiany's illegitimate daughter?"

"I don't think they would have minded that if you had brought letters to
them from Mary asking them to be kind to you--and if you had made a good
marriage. But to have it flung in their faces like this--they will never
forgive you."

"And you think I am Mary Zattiany's daughter?"

"I--yes--I think I have gone back to my original theory. But there must
be something behind. She never would have let you come over here with a
letter only to Trent. She knew that she could rely on many of her old
friends. No people in the world are more loyal to their own than these
old New Yorkers."

"And suppose she did give me letters--and that I have not been interested
enough to present them?"

"I knew it! But I am afraid it's too late now. They not only will
resent your indifference, but they are extremely averse to anything like
sensational drama in private life. And your appearance here tonight is
extremely dramatic! They'll never forgive you," he reiterated solemnly.

"Really? Well, let us enjoy the next act," she added indulgently. "I
hope you will remain here."

The curtain had gone up. The audience, balked of the private drama, in
which they had manifested no aversion whatever from playing their own
role, transferred their attention to the stage, although Clavering saw
more than one glance wander across the house, and those in the adjoining
boxes felt themselves free to peer persistently.

Farrar had not finished bowing and kissing her hands before the next
curtain when the door of the box opened once more and Mr. Osborne
entered. After a few words with Madame Zattiany he went out and returned
almost immediately with three other men, two of his own generation, and a
tall, dark, extremely good-looking young man, whose easy neglig