would not agree to, and pulled herself together and tried
to talk gayly when the curtain went down.

And Hector blamed his own folly for having come up to this box at all.
Here he must be glued certainly for a few moments; now that they could
talk, politeness could not permit him to fly off at once.

"The house is very full," Miss Winmarleigh said--it was a remark she
always made on big nights--"and yet hardly any new faces about."

"Yes," said Hector.

"Does it compare with the Opera-House in Paris, Hector?" Miss
Winmarleigh hardly ever went abroad.

"No," said Hector.--Not only had Delaval Stirling retained his seat, but
Chris Harford, Mrs. Devlyn's brother, had entered the box now and was
assiduously paying his court. "Damned impertinence of the woman,
forcing her relations upon them like that," he
thought.--"Oh--er--no--that is, I think the Paris Opera-House is a
beastly place," he said, absently, "a dull, heavy drab brown and dirty
gilding, and all the women look hideous in it."

"Really," said Morella. "I thought everything in Paris was lovely."

"You should go over and see for yourself," he said, "then you could
judge. I think most things there are lovely, though."

Miss Winmarleigh raised her glasses now and examined the house. Her eyes
lighted at last on Theodora.

"Dear Lady Bracondale," she said, "do look at that woman in black
velvet. What splendid pearls! Do you think they are real? Who is it, I
wonder, with Florence Devlyn?"

But Hector felt he could not stay and hear their remarks about his
darling, so he got up, and, murmuring he must have a talk to his friends
in the house, left the box.

He was thankful at least Theodora was sitting on the pit tier--he could
walk along the gangway and talk to her from the front.

She saw him coming and was prepared, so no wild roses tinged her cheeks,
and her greeting was gravely courteous, that was all.

An icy feeling crept over him. What was the change, this subtle change
in voice and eyes? He suddenly had the agonizing sensation of being a
great way off from her, shut out of paradise--a stranger. What had
happened? What had he done?

Every one knows the Opera-House, and where he would be standing, and the
impossibility of saying anything but the most banal commonplaces,
looking up like that.

Then Josiah leaned forward, proud of his acquaintanceship with a peer,
and said in a distinct voice:

"Won't you come into the box, Lord Bracondale? There