efore. It's one
of those evenings when nothing goes wrong."

Was not Isabel a trifle too guileless for this wicked world? She
prattled on, Selincourt and Laura lending an indulgent ear,
Selincourt, like any other man of his type, touched by her
innocence, Laura faintly irritated: and meanwhile Isabel through
her black lashes watched, not the Duchess of Cumberland's rubies,
but those two in the opposite box. Between it and her stretched
a beautiful woodland drop-scene, the glitter of the stalls, and
the murmur of violins humming through the rising flames of the
Feuerzauber . . . presently the Fire Charm eddied away and the
lights went down, yet still Lawrence sat on though the interval
was over. Across the semi-dark of a "Courtyard by Moonlight" it
was hard to distinguish anything but the silhouette of his hand
and arm, and Mrs. Cleve's fair hair and immense jewelled fan.
What were they saying to each other in this public isolation
where anything might be said so long as decorum was preserved?

Selincourt gave a little laugh as the curtain rose. "An old
flame," he whispered to Laura, not dreaming that Isabel would
understand even if she heard.

"What's an old flame?" asked Isabel, examining him with her
brilliant eyes.

"Feuerzauber," said Selincourt readily. "It means fire spell.
It's often played between the acts."

"Lucian, Lucian!" said his sister laughing.

"I don't know much about music," said Isabel. "Was it well
played?"

"Ah! I know a lot about music," said Selincourt, looking at her
very kindly. "No, it was rottenly played. But some fellers
can't tell a good tune from a bad one."

Lawrence did not return till the middle of the third act, and
offered no apology. He looked fierce and jaded and his eyes were
strained. "Past eleven," he said, hurrying Laura into her coat
while the orchestra played through the National Anthem, for which
Selincourt stood stiffly to attention. "No time for supper, our
train goes at 11:59, I hate first nights, the waits between the
acts are so infernally long." Laura's eyebrows, faintly arched,
hinted at derision. "Oh, it dragged," said Lawrence impatiently.
"Let's get out of this."

It was a clear autumn night: the air was mild, and stars were
burning overhead almost as brightly as the lamps in Shaftesbury
Avenue. What a chase of lamps, high and low, like fireflies in a
wood: green as grass, red as blood, or yellow as a naked flame!
What a sombre city, and w