“It is very good, indeed, of you to come,” she said, as she warmly shook hands. “Don’t say, No! David and I flatter ourselves we understand you pretty well. I know that nothing but a sense of duty brings you here. However, now that you _are_ here, you may as well have a good look at it all. Take that chair. David is at the House. He may look in, but not till late; there is some important debate on to-night. Now, tell me, it is a fine sight, isn’t it?” “It certainly is,” said Hugh. The orchestra had struck up the spirited introduction to the new opera, and the unaccustomed sounds of bright music insensibly raised his spirits. The _coup-d’œil_ of the gigantic horseshoe of tiers of crimson-curtained boxes filled with ladies in brilliant attire, white and the palest tints predominating, was magnificent. “I never imagined women could look so like flowers,” said he, honestly. “I thought you would think better of us when you knew a little more about us!” laughed Lady Forwood, who was scanning the house through her _lorgnettes_. “There! Mercedes has just come in! How lovely she looks! What a magnificent dress! I suppose she was at the drawing-room. I went last time, so I was not there to-day.” “Where?” said Hugh, drawing back a little, and feeling like a conspirator. “Not in the chandelier! and not exactly in the pit,” said Lady Forwood, laughingly. “Don’t be shocked at me! I positively can’t help teasing people. Look at the third from the royal box. There, she is just settling herself, and throwing off her mantilla—the lady in white.” Hugh was looking at the third box to the left of the royalties. “Take my glass,” said Lady Forwood, “and look at the third box to the right of the royal people. Make haste, for in another minute she may settle herself behind the curtain and stay there the whole evening. It would be just like her.” Hugh focussed the glass, and with a singular sensation that was almost a thrill, he gazed at a lovely girl who was leaning forward glancing round the house. She was pale with a waxen pallor; her black hair was dressed high, and studded with pearls. She wore a white velvet gown, a shade whiter than her beautifully moulded bust and arms, and this appeared to be sewn with pearls. So youthful was her slender form that, had Hugh not recognized the Prince Andriocchi and his friend the count hovering in the background, he would hardly have believed this could be the new patient about whom so much fuss had been made. “She is quite a girl!” he said, in surprise, turning to Lady Forwood. “Why not?” asked she. “She was only married a year ago. Spanish girls marry young.” “But, from what you said, I fancied you had been girl friends,” said Hugh, without thinking.