se to hold possession of him.

So the Dictator found himself coming in for a new season of popularity.
One evening he accompanied the Langleys to a theatre where some new and
successful piece was in its early run, and when he was seen in the box
and recognised, there was an outbreak of cheers from the galleries and
in somewhat slow sequence from the pit. The Dictator shrank back into
the box; Helena's eyes flashed up to the galleries and down to the pit
in delight and pride. She would have liked the orchestra to strike up
the National Anthem of Gloria, and would have thought such a performance
only a natural and reasonable demonstration in favour of her friend and
hero. She leaned back to him and said:

'You see they appreciate you here.'

'They don't understand a bit about our Gloria troubles,' he said. 'Why
should they? What is it to them?'

'How ungracious!' Helena exclaimed. 'They admire you, and that is the
way in which you repay them.'

'I know how little it all means,' Ericson murmured, 'and I don't know
that I represent just now the cause of Gloria in her quarrel. I want to
see into it a little deeper.'

'But it is generous of these people here. They think that Gloria is
going to be annexed--and they know that you have been Gloria's patriot
and Dictator, and therefore they applaud you. Oh, come now, you must be
grateful--? you really must--and you must own that our English people
can be sympathetic.'

'I will admit all you wish,' he said.

Helena drew back in the box, and instinctively leaned towards her
father, who was standing behind, and who seldom remained long in a box
at a theatre, because he generally had so many people to see in other
boxes between the acts. She was vexed because Ericson would persist in
treating her as a child. She did not want him to admit anything merely
because she wished him to admit it. She wanted to be argued with, like a
rational human being--like a man.

'What a handsome dark woman that is in the box just opposite to us,' she
said, addressing her words rather to Sir Rupert than to the Dictator.
'She _is_ very handsome. I don't know her--I wonder who she is?'

'I seem to know her face,' Sir Rupert said, 'but I can't just at the
moment put a name to it.'

'I know her face well and I _can_ put a name to it,' the Dictator said.
'It is Miss Paulo--Dolores Paulo--daughter of the owner of Paulo's
Hotel, where I am staying.'

'Oh, yes, of course,' Sir Rupert struck in; 'I