hink she could thus
unceremoniously be handed over to somebody else? She was about to beg to
be excused, when it struck her a refusal would look too pointed.
Besides, she did not fear Sidney now. It would be a test of her
indifference. So she murmured instead, "What can detain him?"

"Charity, doubtless. Do you know, that after he is fagged out with
upholding the _Flag_ from early morning till late eve, he devotes the
later eve to gratuitous tuition, lecturing and the like."

"No," said Esther, softened. "I knew he came home late, but I thought he
had to report communal meetings."

"That, too. But Addie tells me he never came home at all one night last
week. He was sitting up with some wretched dying pauper."

"He'll kill himself," said Esther, anxiously.

"People are right about him. He is quite hopeless," said Percy Saville,
the solitary guest, tapping his forehead significantly.

"Perhaps it is we who are hopeless," said Esther, sharply.

"I wish we were all as sensible," said Mrs. Henry Goldsmith, turning on
the unhappy stockbroker with her most superior air. "Mr. Leon always
reminds me of Judas Maccabaeus."

He shrank before the blaze of her mature beauty, the fulness of her
charms revealed by her rich evening dress, her hair radiating strange,
subtle perfume. His eye sought Mr. Goldsmith's for refuge and
consolation.

"That is so," said Mr. Goldsmith, rubbing his red chin. "He is an
excellent young man."

"May I trouble you to put on your things at once, Miss Ansell?" said
Sidney. "I have left Addie in the carriage, and we are rather late. I
believe it is usual for ladies to put on 'things,' even when in evening
dress. I may mention that there is a bouquet for you in the carriage,
and, however unworthy a substitute I may be for Raphael, I may at least
claim he would have forgotten to bring you that."

Esther smiled despite herself as she left the room to get her cloak. She
was chagrined and disappointed, but she resolved not to inflict her
ill-humor on her companions.

She had long since got used to carriages, and when they arrived at the
theatre, she took her seat in the box without heart-fluttering. It was
an old discovery now that boxes had no connection with oranges nor
stalls with costers' barrows.

The house was brilliant. The orchestra was playing the overture.

"I wish Mr. Shakspeare would write a new play," grumbled Sidney. "All
these revivals make him lazy. Heavens! what his fees must to