But these suggestions he had not taken in good part, quite between ourselves; and, equally between ourselves, he asked himself what his grand relations would say if they knew he was head-over-ears in love with a pretty little pupil-teacher--a perfect lady, certainly, and not unworthy to bear the name of Wynne, but absolutely without sixpence? The poor child liked him too--he was sure of it. He could not offer her a decent home--could not presume to suppose that what was barely sufficient for one would afford a comfortable maintenance for two. Best leave her, if he could, in maiden meditation fancy free--leave her for some luckier fellow, leave his heart in her unconscious keeping. This visit to the theatre was to be positively the last meeting he would allow himself; and then for his dismal, solitary old chambers in the Temple, and work. Plenty of work is an excellent and healing medicine for any affection of a sentimental nature, so he had read, so he had been assured, and now he was about to test its efficacy. The great evening came. With hot and trembling fingers Madeline made her modest toilet, donned her hat and cape, and awaited the rest of the party in the hall in a state of feverish suspense. She had rarely been inside a theatre in her life, and her heart was fluttering with happy anticipation. What a night this would be to look back upon! Henry Irving she had often longed to see, and now she was going to witness _The Lyons Mail_ in company with Mr. Wynne. Oh, it was too much pleasure to be squeezed into one evening. If it could but be spread over three or four days, instead of being all compressed into two or three hours! “Madeline!” said a sharp voice, that startled her from her delightful meditations, “just come into the drawing-room for a moment. I wish to speak to you!” leading the way into that dull apartment, lit at present by one dim gas-burner, and innocent of such extravagance as a fire. “I wish to speak to you,” seriously repeated Miss Selina, “about the preposterous way you are going on with Mr. Wynne! You are really quite shameless!” “What have I done, Miss Selina? What do you mean?” she asked, breathless with horror. “What have you _not_ done? Flirted with him, run after him to Mrs. Wolferton’s, made yourself the talk of the whole place. Even the very _servants_ have remarked it. Don’t imagine for one moment that _he_ thinks of you as anything but a silly chit of a schoolgirl, who is head-over-ears in love with him, and whom he finds it amusing to draw out, and laugh at afterwards with Mr. Fred Wolferton.” “Miss Selina!” cried Madeline, stung to the quick, turning white as death, and grasping the back of a chair for support, as she stammered passionately. “How dare you? How dare you say such things? You know they are not true. I went to Mrs. Wolferton’s because she was kind--because she asked me. I never ran after Mr. Wynne--never!” “And pray what are you doing to-night?” with grim, ironical interrogation.