nage which had been passing between
them suddenly ended--the man, with his sin stripped bare, mercilessly
exposed, the woman, his accuser, passionately eloquent, pouring out her
scorn upon a mute victim. The audience knew what the woman in the play
did not know, that it was for love of her that the man had sinned, to
save her from a terrible danger which had hovered very near her life.
The curtain fell, the woman leaving the room with a final taunt flung
over her shoulder, the man seated at a table looking steadfastly into
the fire with fixed, unseeing eyes. The audience drew a little breath
and then applauded; the orchestra struck up and a buzz of conversation
began.

It was then that Ernestine first noticed how absorbed the man at her
side had become. His hands were gripping the arms of the stall, his eyes
were fixed upon the spot somewhere behind the curtain where this sudden
little drama had been played out, as though indeed they could pierce the
heavy upholstery and see beyond into the room where the very air seemed
quivering still with the vehemence of the woman's outpoured scorn.
Ernestine spoke to him at last, the sound of her voice brought him back
with a start to the present.

"You like it?"

"The latter part," he answered. "What a sudden change! At first I
thought it rubbish, afterwards it was wonderful!"

"Hubert is a fine actor," she remarked, fanning herself. "It was his
first opportunity in the play, and he certainly took advantage of it."

He turned deliberately round in his seat towards her, and she was struck
with the forceful eagerness of his dark, set face.

"The man," he whispered hoarsely, "sinned for the love of the woman.
Was he right? Would a woman forgive a man who deceived her for her own
sake--when she knew?"

Ernestine held up her programme and studied it deeply.

"I cannot tell," she said, "it depends."

Trent drew a little breath and turned away. A quiet voice from his other
side whispered in his ear--"The woman would forgive if she cared for the
man."

* * * * *

Trent turned sharply and the light died out of his voice. Surely it
was an evil omen, this man's coming; for it was Captain Francis who
had taken the vacant seat and who was watching his astonishment with a
somewhat saturnine smile.

"Rather a stupid play, isn't it? By the by, Trent, I wish you would ask
Miss Wendermott's permission to present me. I met her young cousin