After due consultation with Marian and an evening paper, West had telephoned for a box at the Empire, luckily securing one that had been returned at the last moment, the house being otherwise full, it being the first night of a new ballet. Marian was passionately fond of music and sat behind the curtain of the box, feeling almost as if she were alone in the vast, crowded theater, listening intently to the swinging rhythms of the orchestra. West sat close beside her, watching her face in the glow reflected from the brilliantly-lit stage. She looked singularly lovely, her beauty soft and refined, a glow of quiet content in her eyes; he noted the delicate molding of her arms and her tapering fingers as she held up her opera glasses; he saw the gentle rise and fall of the ruby star nestling in her bosom; she intoxicated him. He old! No, young, young, young—an impassioned youth in love: his mistress a goddess whom he scarce dared approach! Half unconsciously he laid his hand on hers as it rested on her lap. She drew it gently away. “Don’t, please don’t. Please don’t spoil things.” He did not speak for some time, while she apparently again became absorbed in the _spectacle_. “I suppose you’re very fond of Maddison?” he asked by and by. “Fond of him? What a curious question to ask! Of course I am. Very.” “Somehow—I thought you weren’t. I—hoped you weren’t.” “I am.” Then turning full toward him, she said earnestly: “Why must you spoil things by talking this way? What can you think of me?” “Think of you? You make me afraid to tell you what I think of you. I—won’t say anything more—I’ll be good.” To a crash and uproar of applause the curtain fell and Marian quickly rose. “I don’t want to see anything more. That was beautiful. Will you put me into a hansom?” “Let’s go on to supper somewhere. We needn’t really have supper if you’re not hungry. We can just pretend and have another chat.” “I thought ours was a dining club,” Marian replied, smiling. “No, thank you very much. I’ve had an awfully good time, but I’m tired.” When she arrived home she was surprised to see that the dining room was lit up, still more surprised to find Geraldstein ensconced there, smoking a cigar, and a brandy and soda on the table beside him. “By Jove!” he exclaimed, turning round. “I believe I was half asleep. I hope you don’t mind my having made myself at home?” “I mind your being here at all,” Marian answered, angry at the thought of what would have occurred if West had returned with her. “You shouldn’t have come in when you found I wasn’t here.” “My dear girl, what nonsense. Why not?” “Because—I don’t like it.” “You handsome little tyrant,” he said, laughing and lazily stretching himself. “You look uncommonly like Cleopatra, but I can’t flatter myself I’m an Antony. Don’t be cross.” “I am cross. It’s late. Good night.” “You’re alone, aren’t you?” he asked suspiciously. “What do you mean?”