Had the audience only known, during the last act of this comedy, what fierce passions were agitating the breasts of the two chief performers in this pretty play, they might have looked on with added interest. How could they tell that the gallant and dashing Harry Thornhill was in his secret heart filled with anger and disdain whenever he came near his charming sweetheart? how could they divine that the coquettish Grace Mainwaring was not thinking of her wiles and graces at all, but was on the road to a most piteous repentance? The one was saying to himself, "Very well, let the vixen go to the devil; a happy riddance!" and the other was saying, "Oh, dear me, what have I done?--why did he put me in such a passion?" But the public in the stalls were all unknowing. They looked on and laughed, or looked on and sat solemn and stolid, as happened to be their nature; and then they slightly clapped their pale-gloved hands, and rose and donned their cloaks and coats. They had forgotten what the piece was about by the time they reached their broughams. Later on, at the stage-door, whither a four-wheeler had been brought for her, Miss Burgoyne lingered. Presently Lionel came along. He would have passed her, but she intercepted him; and in the dusk outside she thrust forth her hand. "Will you forgive me, Lionel? I ask your forgiveness," she said, in an undertone that was suggestive of tears. "I don't know what made me say such things--I didn't mean them--I'm very sorry. See," she continued, and in the dull lamp-light she showed him her ungloved hand, with the engagement-ring in its former place--"I have put on the ring again. Of course, you are hurt and offended; but you are more forgiving than a woman--a man should be. I will never say a word against her again; I should have remembered how you were companions before she came to England; and I can understand your affection for her, and your--your regret about her going away. Now will you be generous?--will you forgive me?" "Oh, yes, that's all right," he said--as he was bound to say. "But that's not enough. Will you come now and have some supper with Jim and me, and we'll talk about everything--except that one thing?" "No, thanks, I can't; I have an engagement," he made answer. She hesitated for a moment. Then she offered him her hand again. "Well, at all events, bygones are to be bygones," she said. "And to-morrow I'm going to begin to knit a woollen vest for you, that you can slip on before you come out. Good-night, dearest!" "Good-night," he said; and he opened the door of the cab for her and told the cabman her address; then--rather slowly and absently--he set out for the Garden Club. The first person he beheld at the Garden Club was Octavius Quirk--of course at the supper-table. "Going to Lady Adela's on the 3d?" said the bilious-looking Quirk, in a gay manner. "I should want to be asked first," was Lionel's simple rejoinder.