"The house is crowded," Mrs. Carew observed in a gratified tone, as she swept the brilliant horse-shoe with her lorgnette. "Oh, of course. They say Ralph Chainey is a splendid actor," returned Alpine, as she threw back her blue-and-white cloak to give the crowd the benefit of her plump white arms and shoulders. "Does Ralph Chainey play Prince Karl?" inquired Kathleen, with languid interest; and, forgetting to listen for the answer, turned her attention to the stage where the actors were strutting their brief day. The play went on, and Kathleen, rousing with a start out of her languid mood, watched it with eager eyes. Everybody knows the clever, fascinating play "Prince Karl." Mansfield has made it immortal in his rôle of the courier. This new actor, whose name had brought out the fashionable world of cultured Boston, was no whit behind Mansfield in his clever impersonations. He was young, and had flashed upon the dramatic world two years before with the brightness of a star. Time was adding fresh laurels to his name, and Boston, critical as it was, did not hesitate to add its plaudits, for, be it known, Ralph Washburn Chainey was a Bostonian "to the manor born." "Oh, it is splendid! And is he not perfectly magnificent?" exclaimed Alpine Belmont, turning eagerly to Kathleen, as the curtain fell upon the first act. Then she started with surprise, for Kathleen was leaning back in her chair, breathing heavily, her face very pale, her eyes half veiled by the drooping lids. "Kathleen, what is the matter? Are you going to sleep, or are you ill, or--_what_?" she demanded, in a high whisper. Kathleen caught Alpine's hand and drew it against her side. "Oh, Alpine, feel my heart how it beats!" she whispered. "I have had such a shock! Did you not recognize him, too?" "I don't know what you are talking about, Kathleen." "Don't you? Oh, Alpine, I have found _him_ out at last--my hero!" whispered the romantic girl. "Kathleen, you're dreaming!" "I'm not. I knew him in a minute, and he recognized me, too. I saw it in his glance when his eyes met mine. He started, then I smiled--I could not help it, I was so glad." Mrs. Carew had been listening to catch the whispered conversation. A heavy frown darkened her face. She leaned forward and muttered, harshly: "Kathleen, you must be crazy!" The girl shrugged her shoulders contemptuously, and took no other notice of the speech. But Alpine's curiosity was awakened, and she whispered, eagerly: "Where is he, then? Point him out to me." "I can not. He has gone off. Wait till he returns," answered Kathleen, sitting up straight in her chair again. The color was coming back into her face again, her eyes flashed radiantly. Mrs. Carew regarded her with suppressed displeasure. Some gentlemen acquaintances came into the box, and the subject of Kathleen's discovery was dropped. They chatted gayly until the time for the curtain to rise, then returned to their seats.