I laughed until I cried when they came, and cried until I laughed. The red extras reviewed the occurrence at the Opera from Alpha to Omega, publishing "statements" from ushers who had shown us to our box; from people in the audience and from the cab man who drove us home. And they supplemented their accounts with pen and ink sketches of "Miss Helen Winship at the Opera," evolved from the fallible inner consciousness of "hurry-up artists." When Uncle came home, he found me reading an interview with him which contained the momentous information that he would say nothing. "We shall not again forget," he said with a deep sigh of relief, "that --the face that launched a thousand ships And burned the topless towers of Ilion --was Helen's. But the Metropolitan still stands. An argument not used on heart-hardened Pharaoh was a plague of press representatives." I'm afraid he'd had a trying day. The worst of my day was still to come. After dinner, when I happened to be alone a minute in the library, Mr. Hynes came in. Oddly enough I'd been thinking about him. I had determined that the next time he called I would for once be self-possessed; I would act as if I had not seen how oddly he conducts himself--now gazing at me as if he would travel round the earth to feast his eyes upon my beauty and now actually shunning Milly's cousin. I was quite resolved to begin afresh and treat him just as cordially as I would any other man: But the moment he appeared away flew all my wits. "I think Milly'll be here in a minute," I stammered, and then I stopped, tongue-tied and blushing. He came towards me, saying abruptly: "May I tell you what I thought when I saw you above us--" I didn't need to ask when or where. "--I thought: The Queen has come to her coronation." One's own stupid self is so perverse! Of course I meant to thank him for his silent help the night before, but I asked with a rush of nervous confusion:-- "You--were you there?" I could have suffered torture sooner than own that I had seen him. "Were you there, Ned?" repeated Milly, blundering into the room. "Why, we didn't see you." Of all vexatious interruptions! Behind her came John and most of the family. "The servant of The Presence would fain know if The Presence is well," John said, coming quickly to my side and peering down at me with a dark, worn look upon his face, as if he hadn't slept, and a catch in his voice that irritated me, in spite of his playful words. I knew well enough that his anxiety had been on my account, but it was so unnecessary! "The child bears up wonderfully," cried my Aunt, before I could answer; "but to-morrow'll tell the story; to-morrow she'll feel the strain." Then they all broke out talking at once. John drew a big chair for me to the fire, and there was such an ado, adjusting lights and fending me with screens. "You _are_ well?" John asked, obstinately planting himself between me and the others. "Perfectly. How absurd you are!"