his arm, now Sylvia's,
whispering questions: "Who's that?" "What's coming now?" The Carmen
roused her to adoration, but Don Jose was 'too fat in his funny little
coat,' till, in the maddened jealousy of the last act, he rose superior.
Then, quite lost in excitement, she clutched Lennan's arm; and her
gasp, when Carmen at last fell dead, made all their neighbours jump. Her
emotion was far more moving than that on the stage; he wanted badly
to stroke, and comfort her and say: "There, there, my dear, it's only
make-believe!" And, when it was over, and the excellent murdered lady
and her poor fat little lover appeared before the curtain, finally
forgetting that she was a woman of the world, she started forward in
her seat and clapped, and clapped. Fortunate that Johnny Dromore was not
there to see! But all things coming to an end, they had to get up and
go. And, as they made their way out to the hall, Lennan felt a hot
little finger crooked into his own, as if she simply must have something
to squeeze. He really did not know what to do with it. She seemed to
feel this half-heartedness, soon letting it go. All the way home in the
cab she was silent. With that same abstraction she ate her sandwiches
and drank her lemonade; took Sylvia's kiss, and, quite a woman of the
world once more, begged that they would not get up to see her off--for
she was to go at seven in the morning, to catch the Irish mail. Then,
holding out her hand to Lennan, she very gravely said:

"Thanks most awfully for taking me to-night. Good-bye!"

He stayed full half an hour at the window, smoking. No street lamp shone
just there, and the night was velvety black above the plane-trees. At
last, with a sigh, he shut up, and went tiptoe-ing upstairs in darkness.
Suddenly in the corridor the white wall seemed to move at him. A warmth,
a fragrance, a sound like a tiny sigh, and something soft was squeezed
into his hand. Then the wall moved back, and he stood listening--no
sound, no anything! But in his dressing-room he looked at the soft thing
in his hand. It was the carnation from her hair. What had possessed the
child to give him that? Carmen! Ah! Carmen! And gazing at the flower,
he held it away from him with a sort of terror; but its scent arose.
And suddenly he thrust it, all fresh as it was, into a candle-flame, and
held it, burning, writhing, till it blackened to velvet. Then his heart
smote him for so cruel a deed. It was still beautiful, but its scent