ould she have to sit with those two before her, her heart racked
with the pangs of jealousy, with the memory of happier days, with the
ghastly fact that he had gone from her life forever, and that she was
sitting there a spectator of his faithlessness. Every song seemed to
mock her wretchedness, and she had to battle with the mad desire to
spring to her feet and cry aloud.

In a kind of dream she heard the strains of the national anthem, and
saw Stafford rise with the rest of the audience, and watched him as he
drew the costly cloak round Maude Falconer's white shoulders; in a
dream allowed Joseph to draw her arm through his and lead her down the
crowded staircase into the open air.

"Splendid concert!" he said, triumphantly. "But you look tired, Ida.
We'll have a cab to the station. But let's wait a minute and see the
prince come out."

They stood in the crowd which had formed to stare at his royal
highness; and as luck would have it, Stafford, with Maude Falconer on
his arm, and followed by Sir Stephen, passed in front of them, and so
close that Ida shrank back in terror lest Stafford should see her. Some
of the crowd, some Stock Exchange people probably, recognised Sir
Stephen, and spoke his name aloud, and a cheer arose. He bowed and
smiled and shook his head in a deprecatory way, and Ida saw Stafford's
face darken with a frown, as if he were ashamed of the publicity, as he
hurried Maude Falconer to the carriage. A moment or two after, the
prince appeared, there was an excited and enthusiastic burst of
cheering; and at last Joseph forced his way out of the crowd and found
a cab.

They had some little time to wait for the train, and Joseph, after
vainly pressing some refreshment on Ida, went into the refreshment-room
and got a drink for himself and a cup of coffee for Isabel, while Ida
sank back into a corner of the carriage and waited for them. Joseph
talked during the whole of the journey in an excited fashion, darting
glances every now and then from his small eyes at the white face in the
corner. When they got out at the station, he offered Ida his arm and
she took it half-unconsciously. The path was too narrow to permit of
three to walk abreast, and Joseph sent Isabel on in front; and on some
trivial excuse or another contrived to lag some little distance behind
her. Every now and then he pressed Ida's arm more closely to his side,
looking at her with sidelong and lingering glances, and at last he
said, in a