“They were married a month ago,” said Minna, steadying her voice. “They were both friends of yours, I believe.” “He was,” said Minna. At that moment, she saw his eyes, which had been idly wandering round the house, fix themselves with awful suddenness upon hers. Instinct warned her of the danger of putting Mrs. Delamere on the scent of a mystery. She made Hugh an unmistakably cordial bow, to which he responded with grave courtesy. Then he sat down beside Irene. The conjuncture of the parties in so celebrated a trial did not pass unnoticed. A whispering here, followed by a glance, an opera-glass levelled there, indicated to Minna the fact of their recognition. Exaggerating the danger, she summoned the box-attendant and, borrowing a pencil, scribbled in German upon a bit of her programme: “Come and speak to me, to save appearances.” The note despatched, she awaited events. Hugh sat down by Irene, and hated to meet the love and trust in her clear eyes. It was the first time they had appeared together in public since their marriage, the first time either had been to a theatre since his arrest for Israel Hart’s murder. It had been a small event in their lives, enjoyed in anticipation, and up to now enjoyed in realisation. They had held hands lover-wise during the act, under cover of the darkness, signalling emotions by little finger-pressures. He rode on the full tide of the past month’s wondrous happiness. Now and then his mind wandered to the sheltered haven on the sweet Cornish coast where the all-fulfilling days of their honeymoon had been passed; where the woman, shyly revealing her inner tendernesses, seemed thereby to regain day by day the colour of her cheeks and the serenity of her brow. And his thoughts flew forward to the journey home, to the strange new fact of not parting at the door, and walking back to his lonely rooms with his heart aching for wild impossibilities. He had risen with a laughing speech: “I am going to delight myself by seeing how inferior all other women are to you.” And then his eyes had met those of Minna fixed upon him like a fate. “Strange we should see her on our first appearance,” said Irene. “She is looking remarkably well,” he returned, realising and hating the banality of the remark. Then he was silent. Irene noticed a constraint. “Never mind if it calls up cruel associations, dear. The past troubles have brought the present happiness. You must always remember that.” “Could I ever forget?” he said. “She has improved in looks,” said Irene, with a glance at the box. “The last time I saw her, poor thing, she was terribly pulled down. I don’t think I ever told you. It was on the awful evening of the first day of the trial. She suddenly appeared at our house, and, before she could speak, was stricken dumb with hysteria. We had to send her back to her friends. Strange, wasn’t it?” “Very strange,” said Hugh, in a low voice. What could have been the intention of her visit?