“The count is no better than his neighbours,” said Lady Forwood, sharply, feeling that from Scylla she was nearing Charybdis. “Mercedes, you must rouse yourself, and go into society. Then you will not brood on the subject of your husband. You can’t change him, at least, not all of a sudden, so you must put up with him.” “The count says——” began Mercedes. “Don’t talk about the count to me! You know my opinion of Italians, my dear. You shall be introduced to some Englishmen. You must know this friend of ours, that you made me turn out of the box just now. David says he is the best man he ever met.” At this moment Hugh knocked at the box-door. He had been outside in the cool night. He had not seen Sir David; he had not expected to do so. He had watched the arrival of some late comers, and, unnoticed by them, had seen the Prince Andriocchi and his friend the count come out of the opera house, light their cigarettes, and remain in close conversation for a few minutes, after which they interchanged a glance of intelligence; the prince hailed a hansom and drove off, and the count reentered the theatre. So he interpreted the steady gaze which Mercedes fixed upon him as he told Lady Forwood there was no sign of her husband’s arrival as a mute questioning as to the whereabouts of the prince, the count having established himself alone in the opposite box. And the next occurrence startled him. The curtain was rising; he was turning to take his seat at the back of the box, when the princess suddenly leant towards Lady Forwood: “Mammy, I have seen this—gentleman—before!” she said. “Where?” she added, turning to Hugh. He smiled, amused at the startled look in her gazelle eyes. “You have the advantage of me, princess,” he said. “I do not think I have had the honour of meeting you before to-night. And yet——” He was puzzled. Looking at her steadily, there was something in the wistful, childish beauty of Mercedes’ oval face which was familiar. She had some resemblance to someone he had seen somewhere. But, even as he ransacked his memory, the likeness eluded him, as a forgotten name will refuse to repeat itself when the thinker struggles to recall it. “You two had better talk over your previous acquaintance behind the curtain, I think,” said Lady Forwood. Hugh took the hint. He drew his chair nearer to the princess, and asked her where they possibly could have met, while Lady Forwood became absorbed in the performance. “You have been much in England; anyone can tell that who hears you speak,” he said. “But have you been in London?”