"A kind of short-hand," said the Major, "arbitrary characters. Jolly means anything you like--awful means anything you like. That kind of language gives the widest scope for the exercise of the imagination." "How is Mrs. Tregonell?" asked the youth, not being given to the discussion of abstract questions, frivolous or solemn. He had a mind which could only grasp life in the concrete--an intellect that required to deal with actualities--people, coats, hats, boots, dinner, park-hack--just as little children require actual counters to calculate with. He subsided into a chair behind Miss Courtenay, and, the box being a large one, remained there for the rest of the play--to the despair of a companion youth in the stalls, who looked up ever and anon, vacuous and wondering, and who resembled his friend as closely as a well-matched carriage-horse resembles his fellow--grooming and action precisely similar. "What brilliant diamonds!" said Christabel, noticing a collet necklace which Psyche wore in the second act, and which was a good deal out of harmony with her Greek drapery--not by any means resembling those simple golden ornaments which patient Dr. Schliemann and his wife dug out of the hill at Hissarlik. "But, of course, they are only stage jewels," continued Christabel; "yet they sparkle as brilliantly as diamonds of the first water." "Very odd, but so they do," muttered young FitzPelham, behind her shoulder; and then, _sotto voce_ to the Major, he said--"that's the worst of giving these women jewels, they _will_ wear them." "And that emerald butterfly on her shoulder," pursued Christabel; "one would suppose it were real." "A real butterfly?" "No, real emeralds." "It belonged to the Empress of the French, and was sold for three hundred and eighty guineas at Christie's," said FitzPelham; whereupon Major Bree's substantial boot came down heavily on the youth's Queen Anne shoe. "At least, the Empress had one like it," stammered FitzPelham, saying to himself, in his own vernacular, that he had "hoofed it." "How do you like Stella Mayne?" he asked by-and-by, when the act was over. "I am charmed with her. She is the sweetest actress I ever saw; not the greatest--there are two or three who far surpass her in genius; but there is a sweetness--a fascination. I don't wonder she is the rage. I only wonder Major Bree could have deprived me of the pleasure of seeing her all this time." "You could stand the piece a second time, couldn't you?" "Certainly--or a third time. It is so poetical--it carries one into a new world!" "Pretty foot and ankle, hasn't she?" murmured FitzPelham--to which frivolous comment Miss Courtenay made no reply. Her soul was rapt in the scene before her--the mystic wood whither Psyche had now wandered with her divine lover. The darkness of a summer night in the Greek Archipelago--fire-flies flitting athwart ilex and olive bushes--a glimpse of the distant starlit sea.