"Let me take you, Claire. Oh, I am glad indeed! You will see Tom there, and, I hope, be able to congratulate him on his triumph. So let me take you." She shook her head. "No, no." "Why?" "Because that is impossible--really. I shall see you there, and you will see me. Is not that enough?" "If you say so, it must be," I answered sadly. "But--" "'But me no buts,'" she quoted. "See, it is getting late; we must be going." A most strange silence fell upon us on the way back to Streatley. Claire's face had not yet wholly regained its colour, and she seemed disinclined to talk. So I had to solace myself by drinking in long draughts of her loveliness, and by whispering to my soul how poorly Tom's Queen of Tragedy would show beside my sweetheart. O fool and blind! Presently my love asked musingly-- "Jasper, do you think that you could cease to love me?" "Claire, how can you ask it?" "You are quite sure? You remember what mother said?" "Claire, love is strong as death. How does the text run? 'Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.' Claire, you must believe that!" "'Strong as death,'" she murmured. "Yes, I believe it. What a lovely text that is!" The boat touched shore at Streatley, and we stepped out. "Jasper," she said again at parting that night, "you have no doubt, no grain of doubt, about my question, and the answer? 'Strong as death,' you are sure?" For answer I strained her to my heart. O fool and blind! O fool and blind! The night that was big with Tom's fate had come. The Coliseum was crowded as we entered. In those days the theatre had no stalls, so we sat in the front row of the dress circle, Tom having in his modesty refused a box. He was behind the scenes until some five minutes before the play began, so that before he joined me I had ample time to study the house and look about for some sign of Claire. Certainly, the sedulous manner in which the new tragedy had been advertised was not without result. To me, unused as I was to theatre-going, the host of people, the hot air, the glare of the gas-lights were intoxicating. In a flutter of anxiety for Tom's success, of sweet perturbation at the prospect of meeting Claire, at first I could grasp but a confused image of the scene. By degrees, however, I began to look about me, and then to scan the audience narrowly for sight of my love.