“Oh dear, no; Dennis Falconer is not my first cousin, by any means!” she said carelessly, though her voice was a trifle sharp. “Third or fourth, or something of that kind.” “He is quite a hero, isn’t he?” said Mrs. Halse, gushingly addressing Loring. “Have you met him?” Loring, though his glance had every appearance of perfect carelessness, was watching Mrs. Romayne intently. He had noticed her access of nervous irritability, and he was curious as to the cause. Was it her son’s flirtation with Miss Newton? Was it dislike to Mrs. Halse? Or had it any connection with Dennis Falconer? He had his reasons for a study of Mrs. Romayne’s idiosyncrasies. “Yes,” he said. “I met him the other night. A good sort of fellow he seemed.” “He’s magnificent!” said Mrs. Halse enthusiastically. “We must have him at the bazaar, my dear Mrs. Romayne; that I am quite determined. If he would sell African trophies for us, you know--a native’s tooth, or poppy-heads--oh, arrow-heads, is it?--well anything of that sort--it would be a fortune to us! Have you seen a great deal of him? Cousins are so often just like brothers and sisters, are they not?” A low laugh and a toss of her head from Miss Newton at this moment closed the perusal of the programme, and Julian turned his attention to perusing the pretty black eyes instead. Mrs. Romayne’s lips seemed to tighten and whiten, and the fingers which held the fan were tightly clenched as she answered in a voice which rang hard in spite of her efforts: “Sometimes they are, of course. But it depends so much on circumstances. Dennis Falconer and I had not met for years until the other day.” At that moment the curtain went up, leaving Mrs. Halse literally with her mouth open, and the instant it fell Mrs. Romayne leant across to Miss Newton with a comment on the performance, spoken in a rather thin, tense voice, and with eyes that glittered as though the nervous strain under which the speaker was labouring was becoming almost insupportable. Apparently something in her face repelled the girl, for her answer was of the briefest, and Julian throwing himself into the breach, he and Miss Newton were instantly absorbed in an animated discussion. It was a long wait, and Loring, noting every one of the restless movements of the woman by his side as she talked and laughed so sharply, understood that to Mrs. Romayne every moment meant nervous torture. The instant the green curtain fell on the third act she rose, and Loring followed her example, and wrapped her quickly and deftly in her cloak. “I can’t say I think much of your American prodigy,” she said to him with a forced laugh. “I must confess that he has bored me to such an extent that I really can’t stand any more boredom, and shall go straight home. Julian!” She glanced round for him as she spoke, but he was escorting Mrs. Halse and her cousin, and she was waiting for him in her brougham before he joined her.