"You endeavour to put me off--you think me a fool, no doubt; but I know what every fool knows, that old Hilton has been playing for you for a year and more." Her accent was violent and slightly vulgar; she pulled tempestuously at some unhappy roses at her breast and scattered them on the ground. "That doll!" she cried. Then her tone softened. "Well, 'tis the way of the world," and she sighed. One pale fair cloud hovered above the poplars opposite. Lord Lyndwood looked at it as he answered: "There is no remark to be made about such a commonplace affair save this, that the lady is too good for me." Mrs. Beale laughed. "Too _good_--yes! You aren't seen with her much." "Miss Hilton is indisposed," he answered. "And, by Gad, Fanny, I'll not have you speak in such fashion--of her or me!" She wilted at once beneath the hint of his anger. "Why, I meant no harm," she breathed quickly. "Forget about it, and come to see Statira to-night. You promised." He rewarded her submission with a smile. "I will be there from the rise of the curtain." They sauntered on again. Mrs. Beale found consolation for much in the glances bestowed on her companion and by the reflection that half the town must have seen whom she walked with, yet this was only a passing pleasure merely softening deep and sad feeling. "Come and tell Statira that she was better than Roxana, afterwards," she said. "We so seldom see you in the Fields now that I think ye must go to Drury Lane." A sudden breeze arose, ruffling the water and blowing the ends of his powdered hair on to her shoulder. "I have been occupied of late, in truth," he answered. "With Miss Hilton?" she could not resist saying. "With my approaching marriage--yes." Then he laughed sweetly. "Let Statira expect me to-night after the play." "Statira will be proud." Her eyes glowed. "La, I shall act well to-night!" "As always." "Ah, no!" she answered almost bitterly. "I cannot act. I can rant upon the boards, 'tis all. When most I wish to disguise my feelings, then do I find how poor an actress I am." "Do you wish to act for my benefit, my dear?" asked Lord Lyndwood lightly. She gave him a dark bright glance. "Sometimes, maybe. Now the sun is setting, will you see me to my chair?" They made slow way back through the thinning crowd. Mrs. Beale was suddenly gay. "What flowers will you bring me to-night? When last I played Statira, Lord Sandys sent me more yellow roses than I could wear in a month. The Fenton was furious; but you, nothing from you!" "I was in Kent." His words were the merest excuse, but his eyes made amends. "I will redeem myself to-night." Her lids drooped. "Whatever you may send I will wear." He sighed. "What can London yield fair enough?" "Anything _you_ have chosen," she answered in a low voice. Then abruptly she looked up at him. "Don't you know it?" "My hopes were, maybe, so presumptuous."