th gas, and fragrant with orange peel. We are squashed
in amongst a crowd of people of a class whom I fancy that neither you
nor I know much about. And I saw you last in a wilderness! We saw only
the yellow sands, and the rocks, and the Atlantic. We heard only
the thunder of the sea and the screaming of seagulls. This is very
different."

"Wonderfully, wonderfully different," she answered. "I miss it all! Of
course I do, and yet one is so much nearer to life here, the real life
of men and women. Oh, one cannot compare it. Why should one try? Ah,
listen!"

The curtain went up. The music of the orchestra subsided, and the music
of the human voice floated through the Opera House--the human voice,
vibrant with joy and passion and the knowledge which lies behind the
veil. Juliet found no time to talk then, no time to think even of her
companion. Her young cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright with
excitement. She leaned a little forward in her place, she passed with
all the effortless facility of her ingenuous youth, into the dim world
of golden fancies which the story of the opera was slowly unfolding.
Beside her, Mrs. Tresfarwin dozed and blinked and dozed again--and on
her left Aynesworth himself, a little affected by the music, still found
time to glance continually at his companion, so radiant with life and
so fervently intent upon realizing to the full this, the first of its
unknown joys. So with crashing of chords and thunder of melody the act
went on. And when it was over, Juliet thought no more of the Cornish
sea and the lullaby of the waves. A new music was stirring in her young
blood.

They were in the front row of the gallery, and presently she leaned over
to gaze down at the panorama below, the women in the boxes and stalls,
whose bare shoulders and skillfully coiffured hair flashed with jewels.
Suddenly her hand fell upon Aynesworth's arm.

"Look!" she cried in some excitement, "do you see who that is in the box
there--the one almost next to the stage?"

Aynesworth, too, uttered a little exclamation. The lights from beneath
were falling full upon the still, cold face of the man who had just
taken a vacant chair in one of the boxes.

"Wingrave!" he exclaimed, and glanced at once at his watch.

"Sir Wingrave Seton," she murmured. "Isn't it strange that I should see
him here tonight?"

"He comes often," Aynesworth answered. "Music is one of his few
weaknesses."

There was a movement in the box, and