f at the stage; there
was nothing else to look at! For three minutes they had blocked the view
for everybody behind them!

Eric was looking at them himself, first indignant, then startled. . . .
He could guess the identity of the first woman, though he could not see
her face; of the others there was no doubt. The refraction of the
foot-lights shewed him Agnes Waring, with her father in the next seat;
on the other side sat Jack. There was no mistaking him; a white circle,
the size of a florin, revealed the mark of his scalp wound. . . .

After drawing back instinctively behind his curtain, Eric leaned an inch
forward to steal a glance at Barbara. She was in the third row, six feet
behind Jack in a direct line; like every one else she had seen the
late-comers, she could not have failed to identify Jack. . . . But there
was no sign of embarrassment; she did not lower her eyes or affect
absorption in her programme; she was looking at the stage. . . . As in
"The Bomb-Shell," there came a sudden laugh, sharp as a dog's bark; it
was followed by other single laughs, by a boom of throaty, good-tempered
chuckling; and the whole house was warmer. Barbara did not laugh, but
her white-gloved hands clapped like a child's. She stopped suddenly and
touched George Oakleigh's arm, pointing ruefully to a split thumb. Jack
Waring sent up a belated rocket of laughter, which started the general
laughter again; Eric saw him burying his head, shamefaced, in his hands;
Barbara was peeling off the injured glove.

It was conceivable that she had not seen Jack, for she gave no sign of
emotion; and, if she had seen him for the first time in more than two
years, this would be the strongest emotion of her life. Yet she was
watching eagerly, applauding eagerly, wholly engrossed in the play.
Once, when the house was silent and concentrated on the stage, she
looked round with her earlier deliberation and let her eyes rest on
Eric's box. He started guiltily before remembering that she could not
see him. Next she borrowed George's glasses and, after a single glance
at the stage, raked the four boxes on either side.

"_I propose to give the thing a trial. Every one must admit that the
present position is intolerable._"

The line told Eric that in twenty seconds the curtain would fall. He had
hardly any idea how the play was being received, but, obviously, he must
not allow any one to see him; he could not stand mouthing inanities to
a box full of peop