"I've coached her myself," replied Cheriton complacently. "I don't pretend to be an elocutionist, of course; but I've been able to give her some hints. All the arts are related, you know, my boy--it's only a difference in the form of expression. They're playing _Romeo and Juliet_ at the theatre here to-night, and we're going; she never loses an opportunity for study. It's been said that you can learn as much by watching bad acting as good. Will you come with us?" he added, lowering his voice. "You'll see how she warms up at the sight of the footlights." "I don't mind," said Heriot, "if I shan't be in the way. Suppose we all dine together at the hotel, and go on from there? What do you say?" He turned to the ladies, and the widow faltered: "Lor, I'm sure it's very kind of you to invite me, Mr. Heriot. That _would_ be gay, wouldn't it!" She smoothed her flat hair tremulously, and left the decision to her brother and her niece. Heriot took his leave with the understanding that he was to expect them, and sauntered along the Parade more cheerfully than was his wont. The girl had not failed to impress him, though he disapproved of her tendencies; nor did these appear quite so preposterous to him now, albeit he thought them regrettable. He did not know whether he believed in her or not yet, but he was conscious that he wished to do so. His paramount reflection was that she would have been a wholly charming girl if she had had ordinary advantages--a finishing governess, and a London season, and a touch of conventionality. He disliked to use the word "conventionality," for it sounded priggish; but "conventionality" was what he meant. At dinner, however, and more especially after it, he forgot his objections. In the theatre he watched Miss Cheriton more attentively than the stage. She herself sat with her eyes riveted on it, and he could see that she was the prey to strong excitement. He wondered whether this was created by the performance, which seemed to him indifferent, or by the thoughts that it awoke, and he resolved to ask her. When the curtain fell, and they went out, he wasn't sorry that Cheriton derided his suggestion of a cab and declared that the walk back would be agreeable. He kept by the girl's side, and the others followed. She did not speak, and after a minute he said: "Will it jar upon you if I say, 'Let us talk'?" She turned to him with a slight start. "Of course not! How can you think me so ridiculous?" "Yet it did!" said Heriot; "I could see." "I know exactly how I appear," she said constrainedly. "I look an affected idiot. If you knew how I hate to appear affected! I give you my word I don't put it on; I can't help it. The theatre gives me hot and cold shivers, and turns me inside out. That isn't prettily expressed, but it describes what I mean as nearly as possible. Am I 'enthusing' again?" "I never said you 'enthused' before. You're not my idea of--of 'the gushing girl' at all."