"Why, man, Claire's were deep grey but a day or two ago, and
Clarissa's are the brownest of brown; but of course you cannot see
from here."

Alas! I knew too surely the colour of Claire's eyes, so like brown
in the blaze of the foot-lights. And her height--Tom had only seen
her walk in tragic buskin. How fatally easy had the mistake been!

"Tom, your success is certain now."

"Yes, thanks to her. They were going to damn the play before she
entered. I could see it. Did you see, Jasper? She looked this way
for a moment. Do you think she meant to encourage me? By the way,
have you caught sight of Claire yet?"

Oh, Tom, Tom, let me spare you for this night! My heart throbbed and
something in my throat seemed choking me as I muttered, "Yes."

"Then do not stay congratulating me, but fly. Success spoils the
lover. Ah, Jasper, if only Clarissa had summoned me! Hasten: I will
keep my eye upon you and smile approval on your taste. Where is
she?"

Again something seemed to catch me by the throat; I was struggling to
answer when I heard a voice behind me say, "For you, sir," and a note
was thrust into my hand. With beating heart I opened it, expecting
to see Claire's handwriting. But the note was not from her. It was
scribbled hastily with pencil in a bold hand, and ran thus:--

"An old friend wishes to see you. Come, if you have time.
Box No. 7."

At first I thought the message must have reached me by mistake, but
it was very plainly directed to "J. Trenoweth, Esq." I looked around
for the messenger but found him gone, and fell to scanning the boxes
once more.

As before, they were filled with strangers; and, as before, the black
and yellow fan was waving slowly to and fro, as though the hand that
wielded it was no hand at all, but rather some untiring machine.
Still the owner remained invisible. I hesitated, reflected a moment,
and decided that even a fool's errand was better than enduring the
agony of Tom's rapture. I rose.

"I will be back again directly," I said, and then left him.

Still pondering on the meaning of this message, I made my way down
the passages until I came to the doors of the boxes, and stopped
opposite that labelled "No. 7." As I did so, it struck me that this,
from its position, must be the one which contained the black and
yellow fan. By this time thoroughly curious, I knocked.

"Come in," said a low voice which I seemed to remember.

I entered and found my