he was guilty of slipping away to pace the hallways in
solitude, or steal to the foyer for a brief cigarette. But when the
house was lighted again, he went back into the auditorium, and then his
eyes never left the little dark head of the girl who sat forward in one
of the lower tier of boxes, waving her big fan, and talking over her
bare shoulder to one or another of the persons beside or behind her.

CHAPTER XV

It was long afterward that Norma dated from the night of "Aida" a new
feeling in herself toward Chris, and the recognition of a new feeling in
Chris toward her. She knew that a special sort of friendship existed
between them from that time on.

He had done nothing definite that night; he had never done or said
anything that could be held as marking the change. But Norma felt it,
and she knew that he did. And somehow, in that atmosphere of fragrant
flowers and women as fragrant, of rustling silks and rich furs, of music
and darkness, and the old passion of the story, it had come to her for
the first time that Chris was not only the Chris of Alice's room, Aunt
Marianna's son-in-law and Leslie's brother-in-law, but her own Chris,
too, a Chris who had his special meaning for her, as well as for the
rest.

She liked him, it was natural that she should especially and truly like
him. Almost all women did, for he was of the type that comes closest to
understanding them, and he had made their favour an especial study.
Chris could never be indifferent to any woman; if he did not actively
dislike her, he took pains to please her, and, never actively disliking
Norma, he had from the first constituted himself her guide and friend.

Long before he was conscious that there was a real charm to this little
chance member of their group, Norma had capitulated utterly. His
sureness, his pleasant suggestions, his positive approval or kindly
protests, had done more to make her first months among the Melroses
happy than any other one thing. Norma loved him, and was grateful to
him, even when he hurt her. In the matter of a note of acceptance, of a
little act of thanks, of a gown or hat, his decision was absolute, and
she had never known it mistaken.

Besides this, she saw him everywhere welcome, everywhere courted and
admired, and everywhere the same Chris--handsome, self-possessed,
irreproachably dressed whether for golf or opera, adequate to the claims
of wife, mother, family, or the world. She had heard Acton turn t