Isabel’s eagle eye took in at one sweeping glance the simple elegance of the governess’ toilet, and her astonishment was plainly visible as she noticed those two almost priceless ornaments which she wore upon her bosom and in her hair. “Indeed, Miss Douglas, I did not expect to see you quite so radiant,” said Mrs. Coolidge, in cold tones, and wondering where her governess got such elegant jewels. Brownie blushed deeply, but replied, courteously: “Do I not meet your approbation, madam? If not, any change you may choose to suggest, I will gladly make.” “They’ll spoil all her pleasure, the vixens,” was Wilbur’s inward comment, as his eyes gloated upon her wonderful beauty, and gleamed with a stronger ray of love than he had henceforth dared betray. Mrs. Coolidge knew she had tied her own tongue by what she had said to Brownie in her own room, but she inwardly resolved that the same thing should never happen again. “Your costume is rather rich for your position,” she remarked, with well-assumed indifference, “but it is of no consequence for once.” Then, as they left the house, she whispered to her daughter: “No one need know but that she is a guest.” “It’s fine, isn’t it, to have your governess outshine your own daughter? I do hope this night’s experience will teach you wisdom,” grumbled the envious girl. CHAPTER XIII A SCENE Her Majesty’s Opera, Drury Lane, was crowded to its utmost capacity when our party arrived. But having secured a private box, this circumstance did not inconvenience them in the least. Wilbur Coolidge took care, after his mother and Isabel were comfortably seated, that Miss Douglas should have a place where she could command a good view of the stage. He was disgusted with their treatment of the lovely governess, and strove by numerous little attentions to atone in part for their rudeness. A battery of lorgnettes was immediately leveled at this brilliant company, and there were numberless surmisings and questionings as to who the newcomers could be. In a box not far from the Coolidge party there sat a royal-looking couple—an old gentleman, still hale and hearty, although upward of sixty-five, and a matron of perhaps a half-dozen years younger. By the side of the latter, and assiduously attending to her wants, was a young man of about two-and-twenty. It was no other than Adrian Dredmond! He, too, had leveled his glass as the newcomers settled themselves in their places. After one sweeping glance, he half started from his chair, with a low exclamation of pleasure. “Whom do you see, Adrian?” asked the lady by his side. “Some friends who came over in the same steamer with me, I believe,” he replied, taking another look, and a smile of pleasure curving his fine lips as his eye rested upon Brownie, who seemed to him in her elegant robes like some beautiful vision from another sphere.