Frank certainly couldn't be accused of chattering, as he was rather silent. Even the rattling chorus and the jokes of the low comedian could not banish the frown from his brow. And he became aware that a man was looking at him--a fair-faced, effeminate little man, with light eyes and a deprecating manner. Lancaster, in no very good temper, scowled at the man, who immediately turned away his head. As he did so the first act ended amidst loud applause. "An eighteen months' run if the other act is as silly," pronounced Baird; "but the management won't keep Fan all that time. She's as freakish as a cat, and her uncle is rich enough to allow her to snap her fingers at the Treasury." "She _is_ a cat from the looks of her," said Darrel, grimly. "Come out, boys, I'll put up the drinks." Dicky assented affably, as the night was warm. But Frank remained behind. "I don't want to run the risk of meeting Starth again. He might come back." "To fetch his sister," said the big Rhodesian. "Yonder she is in a box with an old lady." "What a pretty girl," said the frivolous Dicky, and departed. Lancaster raised his glasses, rather curious to see what Miss Starth was like. He beheld a slender, dark girl, as unlike her brother as possible. Plainly dressed in some gauzy stuff, with a string of seed pearls round her neck, she looked about twenty years of age, but might have been even younger. Apparently she had all the unappeasable curiosity of youth, for her dark eyes roved round the theatre with great eagerness. Finally they rested on Frank, and she flushed when she found he was looking directly at her. First she looked away after the manner of girls, then she stole a stealthy glance at the rude young man, and finally became engrossed in conversation with the elderly lady who was her companion. Frank still looked. He was most polite to the sex, but this face interested him so much that he stared almost rudely. Twice their eyes met, in spite of Miss Starth's ostentatious indifference. She coloured, and he--to his astonishment--likewise blushed. There was something about her which took his heart by storm. To be sure he was susceptible where a woman was concerned, but it seemed absurd to be fascinated by a girl after a few league-long glances. Still, she was distinctly agreeable to him. Fairy Fan he admired after the manner of youth, but she was a pink-and-white doll beside this glorious creature who looked like a queen. Where could his eyes have been to admire the fragile charms of Miss Berry, when true beauty was to be found alone in a stately brunette with coils of shining hair, and eyes like fathomless lakes in the starshine? Fan had been Frank's Rosaline; this vision of loveliness was his Juliet, which means in plain English that he had fallen in love at first sight. But, as he assured himself calmly, such a passion was at once ridiculous and impossible. All the same he continued to "behold vanity," until his divinity grew really angry,