It had been very handsomely done. Barry was playing, and Quin; the perukes were from Paris, and the management had been lavish in the matter of Turkish mail and jewelled scimitars. When Statira appeared the house shouted welcome; she turned her eyes up at Rose Lyndwood as she curtsied. She held his gaze through the scene that followed, and the knowledge of it made her acting splendid--Roxana was eclipsed, vanquished. The Earl found the high emotions, the stormy expressions, the fierce gestures, the lights, the jewels suited to his mood; he was pleased as he had seldom been pleased at the play. Statira was beautiful to look upon; she wore her purple with a regal air, as she moved to and fro gold gleamed round her slender waist, her black curls floated beneath her green turban, red lilies, his gift, heaved on her stormy bosom, and her dark eyes flashed to the box where Rose Lyndwood sat alone. He was held by the passion she expressed, by her movements, her changing voice; the tempestuous play, the angry jealousy, the flash of arms, the glint of daggers, the sonorous eloquence of Quin, the languishing grace of Barry combined to captivate his senses; he did not move or once take his eyes from the scene till the curtain fell on the first act. Statira, panting and flushed beneath her paint, swept a great curtsey to the acclaiming house. My lord unfastened one of the white roses at his cravat and flung it at her feet. She carried it to her lips as she retired into the wings, and he kissed his hand. The audience relaxed after their silence. The beaux stood up in the pit to show off their clothes, some of the ladies readjusted their masks; the porters went round snuffing the candles. Rose Lyndwood leant back in his box smiling to himself a little. Then he chanced to lift his eyes and saw--her. She sat alone, directly opposite, erect and smiling at him; their gaze met across the lights, the jests and laughter, that in an instant were utterly tawdry, and he got to his feet, breathing sharply. Miss Selina Boyle still smiled. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she was wrapped in a soft grey mantle; against the shadows of the empty background her light hair showed like a wreath of faint flame about her head. He descended into the theatre and passed through the noisy crowds, not knowing of them; he opened the door of her box. "May I come in, madam?" She looked at him, saying nothing, and he entered. "I thought you were in Bristol." "We came to London yesterday," said Miss Boyle. "Will you sit down, my lord?" He took the chair behind her. "Who is with you to-night, madam?" "My father--he has gone to visit the room behind the scenes, he will not return till after this act." "May I stay?" asked Rose Lyndwood gravely. "I wish to speak to you." She gave him a full glance out of soft and rich eyes.