er, and what
had it led to? Looking up from the stalls, she had fancied that to sit
in a box was to be in society--now she saw it might but emphasize one's
exclusion. And she was burdened with the box for the rest of the season!
It was really stupid of her father to have exceeded his instructions:
why had he not done as she told him?... Undine felt helpless and
tired... hateful memories of Apex crowded back on her. Was it going to
be as dreary here as there?

She felt Lipscomb's loud whisper in her back: "Say, you girls, I guess
I'll cut this and come back for you when the show busts up." They heard
him shuffle out of the box, and Mabel settled back to undisturbed
enjoyment of the stage.

When the last entr'acte began Undine stood up, resolved to stay no
longer. Mabel, lost in the study of the audience, had not noticed her
movement, and as she passed alone into the back of the box the door
opened and Ralph Marvell came in.

Undine stood with one arm listlessly raised to detach her cloak from the
wall. Her attitude showed the long slimness of her figure and the fresh
curve of the throat below her bent-back head. Her face was paler and
softer than usual, and the eyes she rested on Marvell's face looked deep
and starry under their fixed brows.

"Oh--you're not going?" he exclaimed.

"I thought you weren't coming," she answered simply.

"I waited till now on purpose to dodge your other visitors."

She laughed with pleasure. "Oh, we hadn't so many!"

Some intuition had already told her that frankness was the tone to take
with him. They sat down together on the red damask sofa, against the
hanging cloaks. As Undine leaned back her hair caught in the spangles of
the wrap behind her, and she had to sit motionless while the young man
freed the captive mesh. Then they settled themselves again, laughing a
little at the incident.

A glance had made the situation clear to Mrs. Lipscomb, and they saw her
return to her rapt inspection of the boxes. In their mirror-hung recess
the light was subdued to a rosy dimness and the hum of the audience came
to them through half-drawn silken curtains. Undine noticed the delicacy
and finish of her companion's features as his head detached itself
against the red silk walls. The hand with which he stroked his small
moustache was finely-finished too, but sinewy and not effeminate. She
had always associated finish and refinement entirely with her own sex,
but she began to think they might