To confess? He dared not show the agitation that the story caused him. He rose brusquely, with a desire to escape for a moment from the torture of his present position. Its falseness stung his impatience. A little bald-headed man two rows of stalls off, who was looking with curiosity at the hero of the _cause célèbre_, suddenly met Hugh’s glance and curled up like a shrivelled leaf into his stall. But Hugh had been quite unconscious of the bald-headed man’s interest. “Why don’t you go and smoke a cigarette?” said Irene. As he turned towards her, he saw the tender truthful love in her face, and he called himself a villain for deceiving her. But it was for her happiness. Indubitatively. Still the presence there of the other woman shed a ghastly light upon his honour rooted in dishonour. And Irene’s simple statement of Minna’s mysterious visit, whose baffled intention he could not but surmise, added a grimmer irony to the situation. Before he could reply to Irene, however, the attendant had edged her way to him with Minna’s note. His brow darkened as he read the words. He could not refuse. Besides, Irene had heard the attendant’s enquiry and explanation. “I will go and speak to her if you don’t mind,” he said. “Of course you must,” said Irene. “She will be glad to see you.” Hugh looked at his watch. There were still ten minutes before the curtain rose. There would be time for a brief interview. The briefer the better. He made his way along the line of stalls and ran up the stairs to Minna’s box. She met him outside, in the carpeted and quiet passage, and walked a step or two past the door of her box, so as to be beyond the earshot of Mrs. Delamere. She held out her hand to him with an air of contemptuous defiance. “So you have committed bigamy?” she remarked. “To put it bluntly, I have,” replied Hugh. “You scarcely summoned me to give yourself the pleasure of telling me that.” “Who knows?” said Minna, with an insolent upsweep of her lazy lashes. “Have you anything to say against it?” “Oh, dear, no. You got my letter, didn’t you? You can have as many wives as the late Brigham Young, if you like.” Hugh bowed ironically. It was like her to meet tragic issues with vulgarity. “Tell me,” he said, with a quick change of manner, “why did you go to Mrs. Merriam’s on that evening during the trial?” The question was so abrupt and the incident for the moment so far from her thoughts that she gave a little gasp of surprise and the blood came into her cheeks. She drooped her eyes, stole a surreptitious glance at him, and seeing his face very stern, hardened her heart and laughed contemptuously. “The thing got on my nerves, I suppose--you don’t fancy I contemplated murdering you in cold blood? I thought your dear, true friend Mr. Merriam might help me. Wasn’t I a silly little fool?” “I am glad you had one moment of compunction,” said Hugh.