to her cheeks. Norman Mann saw
the eyes fixed on her, and they vexed him. At the same time, he liked
her the better on that very account.

And at last the curtain rose.

It was just as Desdemona assures her father of her love for Othello,
that Mae became conscious of a riveted gaze--of a presence. Lifting her
eyes, and widening them, she looked over to the opposite side of
the house, and there, of course, was the Piedmontese officer again,
handsomer, more brilliant than ever, with a grateful, soft look of
recognition in his eyes.

Mae was out of harmony with all her friends. She was proud and lonely.
The man's pleased, softened look touched her heart strangely. There was
almost a choke in her throat, there were almost tears in her eyes, and
there was a free, glad, welcoming smile on her lips.

Norman Mann saw it and followed it, and caught the officer receiving it,
and thought "She's a wild coquette."

And Mae knew what he saw and what he thought.

Then a strange spirit entered the girl. Here was a man who vexed her,
who piqued her, and who was rude, for Mae secretly thought it was rude
to neglect Mrs. Jerrold, as the boys did that evening, and yet who was
vexed and piqued in his turn, if she did what he didn't like and looked
at another man.

And then here was the other man. Mae looked down at him.

Bless us! who is to blame a young woman for forgetting everything but
the "other man" when he is a godlike Piedmontese officer, with strong
soft cheek and throat, and Italian eyes, and yellow moustaches, and
spurs and buttons that click and shine in a maddening sort of way?

Of course, in reality, everybody is to blame her, we among the very
virtuous first. In this particular case, however, we have facts, not
morals, to deal with. Mae did see Norman Mann talking delightedly to a
pretty girl, and she did see the officer gazing at her rapturously, and
she quite forgot Othello, and gave back look for look, only more shy and
less intense perhaps, and knew that Norman Mann was very angry and she
and the officer very happy. What matter though the one should hate her,
and the other love her, and she--

But, bother all things but the delirious present moment. Never fear
consequences. There were bright lights, and brilliant people, the hum of
many voices, the flash of many eyes, and a half secret between her, this
little creature up in the box, and the very handsomest man of them all.

So while Othello fell about the st