"Oh, Will, I should like so much to see her—and—and——" "Kiss her," she had nearly said; but thinking it might be ridiculous, she stopped. "It’s against the rules, Dove," said Will, with a smile. "Besides, that isn’t Miss Brunel you’ve been looking at; that is Juliet. Both are very nice ladies; but they are quite unlike each other." Dove was terribly disappointed. She would like to have declared her conviction that Miss Brunel was Juliet, that she had every bit the same tenderness, and sweetness, and loveliness; but she was afraid her enthusiasm might make Mrs. Anerley laugh at her, and so she bore the rebuff patiently. Presently, however, some one tapped at the box-door; and the next moment Will was introducing the manager, Mr. Melton, to his companions. "My young friend here," said Will to Melton, while Dove’s pretty face assumed an extra tinge of colour, "has been so much struck by Miss Brunel, that she would like to go and thank her personally." Now Mr. Melton was in a very good humour. The house was crammed; there was almost no "paper" in it; and the prospect of a good run through the popularity of his new acquisition had warmed up his impassive nature into quite a pronounced geniality. "Then you ought to introduce the young lady to Miss Brunel," said Mr. Melton, blithely. "If you like, I’ll take you round at the end of the act, when Miss Brunel will have a little ’wait.’" "Will you go, Dove?" asked Will. "Yes," she said, timidly. Just as the curtain fell upon the scene in Friar Lawrence’s cell, at the end of the second act, Mr. Melton conducted Dove and Will down a tortuous little stone stair into a narrow passage, from which they entered into the wings. A noisy and prolonged recall was thundering throughout the house, and Miss Brunel was being led on to the stage by Romeo to receive renewed plaudits. When she returned and passed under the glare of the jets in one of the entrances, Will went forward to shake hands with her. "I have to congratulate you again," he said. "Thank you," she said, simply. There had been a pleased smile of welcome in her eyes when they met; and yet it seemed to him that there was a strange, intense expression in her look which was not natural to it. Once or twice before he had seen her in the same circumstances; and invariably this unconscious, mesmeric intensity was present in her eyes. He explained it to himself by supposing that the emotional idealism of her assumed character had not quite died out of her yet. Then she turned and saw Dove standing with Mr. Melton. Will begged to introduce his "sister;" and the brief ceremony was sufficiently singular. For a moment the dark, lambent eyes of Miss Brunel were fixed upon the fair young girl with a sort of hesitating look—an inquiring, apprehensive look, which Will never forgot; then all at once she frankly extended her hand. Dove, a little frightened, approached and shook hands with her.