Again he looked across at her and their eyes met. He turned to the stage and listened to the faltering of love as it struggled with doubt. The music had changed. It had deepened in color and a new note had throbbed into it--a note of flesh that weighed upon spirit--of disbelief that shadowed faith. The ideal was singing the old lesson of the real found wanting--of passion tarnished by the touch of clay. The ecstasy had fled. Love was not satisfied with itself. It craved knowledge, and the vision beautiful was fading before the eyes of earth. It was the song of the eternal vanquishment of love by distrust, of the eternal failure of faith. * * * * * When the curtain fell Ryder came into the box. He was looking depressed, and lines of irritation had gathered about his mouth. He pulled his fair mustache nervously. His wife rose and looked at him with a frank smile in her eyes. "I have been watching Mrs. Gore," she said, "and she is very lovely. Will you take me to her box for a moment?" Nevins looked up with quick gratitude, and Ryder grew radiant. He smiled on his wife in affectionate admiration. "Of course I will," he answered, and as they left the box he added: "You are magnificent. There is not a woman in town with your neck and arms." She smiled faintly, unmoved by his words. She had learned long since that he still admired though he no longer desired her--and desire was the loadstar of his life. Father Algarcife, looking at the box across from him, saw Mariana start suddenly and rise with an impulsive welcome as Mrs. Ryder entered. He could see the light on her face, and the frank pleasure of her greeting. Then, as the two women stood together, he saw Ryder glance from one to the other with his pleasant smile and turn to speak to Miss Ramsey. He heard Nevins breathing behind him, and he was conscious of a strange feeling of irritation against him. Why should he, who was at enmity with no man, cherish that curious dislike for one who was his friend? "Mrs. Ryder is a creature to be adored," said Nevins to Miss Darcy. "She is Isis incarnate." Miss Darcy responded with her flashing smile. "And Mrs. Gore's divinity?" Nevins gave an embarrassed laugh. "Oh, I am not sure that she is a goddess at all," he answered. "She is merely a woman." CHAPTER VIII As Mariana entered her house after the opera was over she unwound the lace scarf from her head, letting it trail like a silvery serpent on the floor behind her. Then she unfastened her long cloak, and threw it on a chair in the drawing-room. "The fire is out," she said, looking at the ashes in the grate, "and I am cold--cold." "Shall I start it?" asked Miss Ramsey, a little timidly, as she tugged awkwardly at her gloves, embarrassed by their length. Mariana laughed absently. "Start it? Why should you?" she questioned. "There are servants--or there ought to be--but no, I'll go up-stairs."