But Dove was an easy subject for the spiritual magnetism of art. Her keenly sympathetic nature vibrated to the least motion of the magician’s hand; and when the passionate climax of Juliet’s misery was reached, Dove had entirely lost self-control. For a little time she tried to retain her composure, although Mrs. Anerley saw her lips suddenly tremble when Juliet begged the Friar to show her some means of remaining faithful to her husband— "And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain’d wife to my sweet love." But in the final scene she quite broke down. She rose and went to the back of the box, and stood in a corner, sobbing bitterly. Mr. Anerley drew her towards him; and tried to soothe her, in his quiet, kindly way. "My darling, why should you vex yourself? You will see ’Juliet’ alive in a few minutes." "I know it well enough," she said, trying to assume her ordinary manner, "but it’s very wrong for any one to write things like that, to make people cry." "The naughty Shakespeare shan’t do it again, that he shan’t," said Will, compassionately. "And as for Miss Brunel, who is most in fault—but here she comes!" Will picked out of the corner the large bouquet which lay there; and returned in time to let it drop—nearly the first of a fine collection of similar tributes which welcomed the triumph of the young actress—almost at her feet. Romeo picked it up, along with two others; she took this particular one and sent a single bright look so clearly up to the box, that a good many heads were turned thither. When Romeo had picked up the remaining bouquets, and when she had again and again bowed her acknowledgments of the cordial applause of the theatre, the girl with the pale face and the black hair retired, and the people calmed down. "Now, Dove," said Will, "if you wish to be cheered up a bit before going, there is as absurd a farce as ever was written to follow. Shall we stay?" "Just as you please, Will," said Dove, looking down. The first of her new duties, she thought, was submission and obedience; and she hoped neither Mr. nor Mrs. Anerley noticed her little conjugal effort. It was agreed, however, that they should go home at once; and Will went off to hunt up Count Schönstein’s brougham. In a short space of time they were seated in the Langham hotel, awaiting supper. "And not the least pleasant part of a play," said Mr. Anerley, dogmatically, as he fingered one of his wine-glasses, "is the supper after. You come out of the gas and the heat into a cool, fresh room; and—and—waiter! bring some ice, please." "Yes, sir." CHAPTER IX. THE COUNT’S BROTHER.