ng on her cloak, which
was the colour of an Indian sky at night, and immediately became
absorbed in the traffic of the stage. It was obvious that she really
cared for art, while Lady Wrackley cared about the effect she was
creating on the audience. It seemed a long time before she sat down, and
let the two young men sit down too. But suddenly there was applause and
no one was looking at her. Moscovitch had walked upon the stage.

"_That_ man can act!"

Miss Van Tuyn had spoken.

"He gets you merely by coming on. That is acting!"

And immediately she was intent on the stage.

When the curtain fell Braybrooke got up resolutely and stood at the back
of the box. Craven, too stood up, and they all discussed the play.

"It's a character study, simply that," said Miss Van Tuyn. "The
persistent lover who can't leave off--"

"Trying to love!" interposed Lady Sellingworth. "Following the great
illusion."

And they debated whether the great singer was an idealist or merely
a sensualist, or perhaps both. Miss Van Tuyn thought he was only the
latter, and Braybrooke agreed with her. But Lady Sellingworth said no.

"He is in love with love, I think, and everyone who is in love with love
is seeking the flame in the darkness. We wrong many people by dubbing
them mere sensualists. The mystery has a driving force which many cannot
resist."

"What mystery, dearest?" said Miss Van Tuyn, not without irony.

But at this moment there was a tap at the door of the box, and Craven
opened it to find Mrs. Ackroyde and the young man with the severe eyes
waiting outside.

"May we come in? Is there room?" said Mrs. Ackroyde.

There was plenty of room.

"Lena will be happier without us," Mrs. Ackroyde explained, without a
smile, and looking calmly at Lady Sellingworth. "If I sit quite at the
back here I can smoke a cigarette without being stopped. Bobbie you
might give me a match."

The severe young man, who looked like a sad sensualist, one of those men
who try to cloak intensity with grimness, did as he was bid, and they
renewed the discussion which had been stopped for a moment, bringing the
newcomers into it. Lady Sellingworth explained that the mystery she had
spoken of was the inner necessity to try to find love which drives many
human beings. She spoke without sentimentality, almost with a sort
of scientific coldness as one stating facts not to be gainsaid. Mrs.
Ackroyde said she liked the theory. It was such a comfortable one