The box door was opening and shutting softly, on the stage voices and instruments soared and fell. She did not know how long she sat there in a kind of brooding rapture. But presently she was roused by hearing a different voice at her elbow. She half opened her eyes, and saw a newcomer sitting by Anne. It was one of the young men who came to the house; his fresh blunt face was as inexpressive as a football; he might have been made by a manufacturer of sporting-goods. “--in the box over there; but he’s gone now; bolted. Said he was too shy to come over and speak to you. Give you my word, he’s got it bad; we couldn’t get him off the subject.” “_Shy?_” Anne murmured ironically. “That’s what he said. Said he’s never had the microbe before. Anyhow, he’s bolted off home. Says he don’t know when he’ll come back to New York.” Kate Clephane, watching her daughter through narrowed lids, perceived a subtle change in her face. Anne did not blush--that close-textured skin of hers seldom revealed the motions of her blood. Her delicate profile remained shut, immovable; she merely lowered her lids as if to keep in a vision. It was Kate’s own gesture, and the mother recognized it with a start. She had been right, then; there was some one--some one whom Anne had to close her eyes to see! But who was he? Why had he been too shy to come to the box? Where did he come from, and whither had he fled? Kate glanced at Nollie Tresselton, wondering if she had overheard; but Nollie, in the far corner of the box, leaned forward, deep in the music. Joe Tresselton had vanished, Landers slumbered in the rear. With a little tremor of satisfaction, Kate saw that she had her daughter’s secret to herself: if there was no one to enlighten her about it at least there was no one to share it with her, and she was glad. For the first time she felt a little nearer to Anne than all the others. “It’s odd,” she thought, “I always knew it would be some one from a distance.” But there are no real distances nowadays, and she reflected with an inward smile that the fugitive would doubtless soon reappear, and her curiosity be satisfied. That evening, when Anne followed her into her bedroom, Mrs. Clephane opened the wardrobe in which she had placed the jewel-box. “Here, my dear; you shall choose one thing for me to wear. But I want you to take back all the rest.” The girl’s face clouded. “You won’t keep them, then? But they’re all yours!” “Even if they were, I shouldn’t want them any longer. But they’re not, they’re only a trust--” she paused, half smiling--“a trust till your wedding.” She had tried to say the word lightly, but it echoed on through the silence like a peal of silver bells. “Oh, my wedding! But I shall never marry,” said Anne, laughing joyously, and catching her mother in her arms. It was the first time she had made so impulsive a movement; Kate Clephane, trembling a little, held her close.