“An effect that causes one to lose all discretion. I feel I would give my soul to hold you in my arms.” I told him I did not think it was at all nice or respectful of him to talk so. That I found such love revolting. “You tell me in your sane moments I am most unsuitable to you--you try to keep away from me, and then, when you get close, you begin to talk this stuff! I think it is an insult!” I said, angry and disdainful. “When I arouse devotion and tenderness in some one, then I shall listen, but to you and to this--never!” “Go on!” he said. “Even in the dim light you look beautiful when cross.” “I am not cross,” I answered. “Only absolutely disgusted.” By that time, thank goodness, we had got into the stream of carriages close to the Opera House. Mr. Carruthers, however, seemed hardly to notice this. “Darling,” he said, “I will try not to annoy you, but you are so fearfully provoking. I tell you truly, no man would find it easy to keep cool with you.” “Oh! I don’t know what it is being cool or not cool!” I said, wearily. “I am tired of every one, even as tiny a thing as Malcolm Montgomerie gets odd like this!” He leant back and laughed, and then said angrily, “Impertinence! I will wring his neck!” “Thank heaven we have arrived!” I exclaimed, as we drove under the portico. I gave a great sigh of relief. Really, men are very trying and tiresome, and if I shall always have to put up with these scenes through having red hair, I almost wish it were mouse coloured, like Cicely Parker’s. Mrs. Carruthers often said, “You need not suppose, Evangeline, that you are going to have a quiet life with your colouring--the only thing one can hope for is that you will screw on your head.” Lady Ver and Lord Robert were already in the hall waiting for us, but the second I saw them I knew she had been saying something to Lord Robert, his face so gay and _debonnaire_ all through dinner, now looked set and stern, and he took not the slightest notice of me as we walked to the box, the big one next the stage on the pit tier. Lady Ver appeared triumphant; her eyes were shining with big blacks in the middle, and such bright spots of pink in her cheeks, she looked lovely; and I can’t think why, but I suddenly felt I hated her. It was horrid of me, for she was so kind, and settled me in the corner behind the curtain, where I could see and not be seen, rather far back, while she and Lord Robert were quite in the front. It was “Carmen”--the opera. I have never seen it before. Music has such an effect--every note seems to touch some emotion in me. I feel wicked, or good, or exalted, or--or---- Oh, some queer feeling that I don’t know what it is--a kind of electric current down my back, and as if, as if I would like to love some one, and have them to kiss me. Oh! it sounds perfectly dreadful what I have written--but I can’t help it--that is what some music does to me, and I said always I should tell the truth here.