And if in the fall some other enemy could be made to suffer too, so much the better ... some one to whom the gods had been lavish, as in the case of Richard Farquharson. Farquharson was drawn to Evelyn, Evelyn was drawn to Farquharson; there was no doubt of that. And Miss Beadon meant to marry Farquharson, and, by herself, would never accomplish her purpose. Why, there were all the elements of a successful comedy in view if Brand could only teach the puppets their parts. An opportunity came shortly. A few days later, as Brand was sitting in his little smoking-room, where the best, the most comfortable chairs and sofas were collected, he heard his wife’s knock at the door. He glanced at the open letter in her hand through half-closed eyes as she approached. She held it out for him to read. "Mr. Calvert’s chauffeur has just brought this. The Bedfords have lent him their box at the opera to-night; the Beadons are going, and he wants us too. The man is waiting for an answer. We’re free, of course, but you don’t care for Wagner opera, do you?" Brand took the letter and read it with unusual deliberation. "’_Tristan and Isolde_, and please be in your place a quarter of an hour before the orchestra strikes up. We are a party of six,’" he quoted slowly. "That means Calvert, Beadon, Miss Dora, you and I and Farquharson, I suppose." "Am I to refuse or accept?" asked Evelyn. "You look very tired to-night. Are you up to going?" "I’m right enough," said Brand. "I think—I’m sure, in fact, it will amuse me, although, perhaps, that wasn’t exactly the intention of the composer." He looked at her from head to foot critically, then fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and drew out a sovereign. "Get some flowers to wear—malmaison carnations for choice, if the neighbourhood can produce them. The colour suits you. This is the first invitation Calvert has ever given me, it mustn’t be the last. Remember, I rely upon you to do all you can in that direction. Wear white to-night by the bye, you’re one of the few women who can; and if the carnations fail, get roses of the same shade." "Thank you," said Evelyn, lingering still. So sudden, so complete a change of manner made her vaguely uneasy. Brand never gave her money without expecting its full value back in kind. "Give yourself plenty of time to dress, Evelyn. I want you to look your best. It’s really an occasion." He was still smiling as she closed the door. *CHAPTER VII* "Je connais trop tard quel est l’essential!"—E. ROSTAND. "Oh, my dear, I’m so glad you’ve come to look after me," said Miss Beadon; "I was getting quite embarrassed amongst this tribe of men." She tried to pull Evelyn playfully down beside her as she spoke into the vacant seat she had kept between herself and her father, but Calvert interposed.