e by-play of
intrigue, detectable only by eyes deep-skilled and trained,--these form
the main attractions of a scene wherein our modern civilization is more
strikingly exhibited than in any other situation.

Scarcely had Lizzy Davis taken her seat than a low murmur of wondering
admiration ran through the whole house, and, in the freedom which our
present-day habits license, every opera-glass was turned towards her.
Totally unconscious of the admiration she was exciting, her glances
ranged freely over the theatre in every part, and her eyes were directed
from object to object in amazement at the gorgeousness of the scene
around her. Seated far back in the box, entirely screened from view, her
father, too, perceived nothing of that strange manifestation wherein a
sort of homage is blended with a degree of impertinence, but watched the
stage with intense eagerness. Very different from the feelings of either
father or daughter were the feelings of Annesley Beecher. He knew well
the opera and its habits, and as thoroughly saw that it is to the world
of fashion what Tattersall's or the turf is to the world of sport,--the
great ring where every match is booked, every engagement registered, and
every new aspirant for success canvassed and discussed. There was not a
glance turned towards the unconscious girl at his side but he could read
its secret import. How often had it been his own lot to stare up
from his stall at some fair face, unknown to that little world which
arrogates to itself all knowledge, and mingle his criticism with all the
impertinences fashion loves to indulge in! The steady stare of some, the
unwilling admiration of others, the ironical gaze of more, were all easy
of interpretation by him, and for the very first time in his life he
became aware of the fact that it was possible to be unjust with regard
to the unknown.

As the piece proceeded, and her interest in the play increased, a
slightly heightened color and an expression of half eagerness gave her
beauty all that it had wanted before of animation, and there was now an
expression of such captivation on her face that, carried away by that
mysterious sentiment which sways masses, sending its secret spell from
heart to heart, the whole audience turned from the scene to watch
its varying effects upon that beautiful countenance. The opera was
"Rigoletto," and she continued to translate to her father the touching
story of that sad old man, who, lost to every s