Towards the close of the first act, in connection with one of the incidents, several fresh characters--amongst them the girl who was taking the principal part--appeared on the stage. There was a little round of applause and I was on the point of turning to make some remark to Mr. Marx, when I heard a sharp, half-suppressed exclamation escape from his lips and felt his hot breath upon my cheek. I looked at him in surprise. He had risen from his chair and was standing close to my elbow, leaning over me, with eyes fixed upon the centre of the stage and an incredulous look on his pale face. Instinctively I followed the direction of his rapt gaze. It seemed to me to be bent upon the girl who had last appeared, and who, with the skirts of her dark-green riding-habit gathered up in her hand, was preparing to sing. He recovered from his surprise, or whatever emotion it was, very quickly, and broke into a short laugh. But I noticed that he pushed his chair farther back into the box and drew the curtains a little more forward. "Is anything the matter, Mr. Marx?" I asked. He shrugged his shoulders and frowned a little. "Nothing at all. I fancied that I recognised a face upon the stage, but I was mistaken. Good-looking girl, isn't she--the one singing, I mean?" I thought that good-looking was a very feeble mode of expression, and I said so emphatically. In fact, I thought her the most beautiful and most graceful creature I had ever seen; and, as the evening wore on, I found myself applauding her songs so vigorously that she glanced, smiling, into our box, and Mr. Marx, who was still sitting behind the curtain, looked at me with an amused twitching of the lips. "Morton, Morton, this won't do!" he exclaimed, laughing. "You'll be falling head over ears in love with that young woman presently." I became in a moment very red and uncomfortable, for she had just cast a smiling glance up at us and Mr. Marx had intercepted it. I was both ashamed and angry with myself for having applauded so loudly as to have become noticeable; but Mr. Marx seemed to think nothing of it. "There is a better way of showing your appreciation of that young lady's talents--Miss Mabel Fay, I see her name is--than by applause. See these flowers?" I turned round and saw a large bouquet of white azaleas and roses, which the attendant must have brought in. "You can give them to her if you like," Mr. Marx suggested. I shook my head immediately, fully determined that I would do nothing of the sort. But Mr. Marx was equally determined that I should. It was quite the correct thing, he assured me; he had sent for them on purpose and I had only to stand up and throw them to her. While he talked he was writing on a plain card, which he pinned to the flowers and then thrust them into my hand.