“I know what I’ll do. I’ll take the Three Graces, and persuade Quin’s aunt to come as chaperone. Then we’ll all have supper with Lorraine afterwards. You shall have a nice, quiet, interesting evening with Doris, and I’ll get two stalls for you for another night.” She moved about, gathering up her things. “You don’t know Quin’s aunt, Lady Bounce, do you? She’s the dearest old soul, and she loves a theatre. Night-night, old boy; don’t keep Doris too long near the canal, in case you are taken with my inclination”; and she went gaily off, humming a popular air. Dudley read through his letters without grasping any of their contents. For the first time Hal’s attitude to Doris seriously worried him, and he felt vaguely there was trouble ahead. But when Thursday came, and they were together, she again had the same pleasing effect upon his senses, and he let himself be persuaded that if Hal grew to know her better, she could not choose but grow fond of her. In the meantime a group in the royal box at the Greenway Theatre was causing no small interest to a crowded house. There was Hal, with her smart, well-groomed air, gleaming white neck and arms, and her white, even teeth that looked so attractive even in the distance when she smiled. Dick Bruce, spruce and scholarly, hugely pleased with himself, because he had an article in _The National Review_, on the strength of the colonies in war time; and some lines entitled “Baby’s Boredom” in _Fireside Chat_, concerning which he had already announced his intention of standing the champagne for their supper with the cheque. Of the other two occupants it would be difficult to say which attracted the most attention. Alymer Hermon, with his immense stature and splendid head, or Quin’s aunt, Lady Bounce, who presented so striking a resemblance to another well-known little old lady sometimes seen at the theatre, that friends of the last-mentioned were utterly puzzled. Surely only one little lady in London wore that early Victorian dress, with the ringlets and “grande dame” air, and sat with such genuine delight and enjoyment through a play? And yet why did she not look out for her numerous friends, down there in the stalls, and recognise them? And who in the world was she with? If that were indeed Lady Phyllis Fenton—and it seemed incredible it should not be—who was the splendid young giant, and who the white-faced girl with the brilliant smile? And all the time, absorbed in the play and her companions, the little old lady smiled and talked, calmly indifferent to the many eyes below waiting for the expected bow of recognition. Quin, apparently, had not been willing to desert his slummers for a gay West-end theatre; so Hal was only escorted by two Graces instead of three, but the light in her eyes, for any one near enough to see, suggested she was enjoying herself to the utmost in spite of it.