The curtain had fallen upon the happy marriage of Kathleen Mavourneen and Comether O'Shaughnessy. The talented representatives of the two characters had been called forward several times amidst huzzahs, and most of the audience had quitted the theatre; and Miss Montressor had retired to her dressing-room, where, throwing herself into a chair, she fell into a reverie. 'What could be the meaning of that extraordinary resemblance between the lady who had sat in the very seat which Bess had assured her had been taken by Mrs. Griswold, and the portrait which Mr. Foster had shown her on the terrace at Richmond, as that of his wife? There must have been some mistake; Bess must have made a blunder about the exact position in the circle, or Mrs. Griswold must have been unable to obtain the seat on which she had first set her mind!' But then came the identity of the costume the lady in the circle wore--the exact dress which Bess had described as that which her mistress was about to wear; the blue velvet and guipure lace, the plain gold ornaments, the blue-and-gold fan--all were there. It was most astonishing--Miss Montressor admitted that; but she could not understand why, as she admitted it, a sombre presentiment, a sense of some impending calamity, seemed to come across her. She was roused by a knock at the door, following immediately on which Mr. Bryan Duval put in his head. 'Clara, my clear,' said he, 'I will get dressed as quickly as possible; I have got a room at Delmonico's.' 'Delmonico's!' echoed Miss Montressor. 'What's that? 'Something very nice,' said Mr. Duval; 'the best restaurant in the world. The piece has been such a go, that I could not do less than ask a few people to an improvised supper--Van Buren and two or three of the press people, you know. Of course we must have you, and old Mrs. Regan will come as chaperone. It will be remarkably jolly, and I shouldn't wonder if there were a few lines about it in to-morrow morning's paper, which will be quite worth the expense.'