Geoffrey scarcely appreciated his attention, and on the voyage home had threatened to duck him more than once, but he certainly felt more “fit” since he had been obliged to give his brains a rest. “I say, Milnes, I’m awfully curious to see her,” Dick said, when he had devoured the contents of his programme. “The last recollection I have of her was at our Christmas party in Durlston, when she had very long hair and very short skirts, and stood on a hassock to recite ‘The Spider and the Fly.’ I suppose she has altered a good deal since then. I wonder if it is true that she is engaged to Lady Marjorie Stonor’s brother?” “Can’t tell you, I’m sure,” Dr. Geoff rejoined with a frown; and then the lights were lowered and the curtain rose. They both had neither eyes nor ears for any one but _Mallida_. Before she came on, the play lagged and filled them with impatience, but at her entry all was changed. Geoffrey felt thrilled to the core, as, at the sound of her well-remembered voice, he craned his head to catch the first glimpse of her sweet face and snowy draperies. Then a strong feeling of indignation took possession of him as he realized that, for the mere price of a seat, any fellow could avail himself of the privilege of basking in the sunshine of her smile, and drinking in the richness of her voice. And although he enjoyed the play and admired Celia’s acting, he hated to see her upon the stage, hated to think that for three hours every evening she belonged absolutely to the public; that her smiles and tears were alike artificial, mechanically assumed for their benefit. It seemed to him little less than desecration of the gifts with which she had been so liberally endowed. Dick Stannard was wildly enthusiastic, and at the end of the first act, declared his intention of going behind. Geoffrey, for some inexplicable reason of his own, refused to accompany him, so, having thought out a few particularly flowery compliments to offer, he went alone. A few minutes later, however, he returned with an obvious expression of disappointment on his rugged face; and flinging himself on to the seat, uttered the inelegant but forcible expression of “Rot!” “My dear boy!” expostulated Geoffrey. “Have you forgotten that you are in decent company for once?” “No; but it is rot all the same,” returned Stannard, indignantly. “The fellow, whoever he might be, absolutely refused to take in my card. Said Miss Franks saw nobody at the theatre, not even her most intimate friends, and that I might possibly be able to see her by appointment at Mr. and Mrs. Haviland’s house in Acacia Road. I told him that I had just arrived from Australia, and was going on to the North to-morrow morning, but it made no difference. He said he had his orders which he was bound to obey, and as he wasn’t the sort of man to take a tip, all I could do was to turn to the right about and come away.”