.

Among the circle of Lady Throckmorton's friends, and even beyond its
pale, she was a goddess this winter. Her dark _viante_ face, with its
innocence and freshness of beauty, carried all before it, and this her
first season was a continuation of girlish triumphs. The chief
characteristic of her loveliness was that it inspired people with a sort
of enthusiasm. When she entered a room a low murmur of pleasure followed
her. There was not a man who had exchanged a word with her who would not
have been ready to perform absurdities as well as impossibilities for
her sweet young sake.

"How kind people are to me!" she would say to Lady Throckmorton. "I can
hardly believe it, sometimes. Oh, how Joanna and Elin would like Paris!"

They had been two months in Paris, and in the meantime had heard nothing
from Denis Oglethorpe. He had not written to Lady Throckmorton since the
letter dated from Vienna, so they supposed he had lost sight of them and
thought writing useless. There were times when Theo tried to make up her
mind that she had seen him for the last time before his marriage, but
there were times again when, on going out, her last glance at her mirror
had a thrill of expectation in it that was almost a pang.

She was sitting in their box in the theatre one night, half listening to
Maurien, half to the singers, and wondering dreamily what was going on
in Broome street at the moment, when she suddenly became conscious of a
slight stir among the people in the seats on the other side of the
house. She turned her face quickly, as if she had been magnetized.
Making his way toward their box was a man whom at first she saw mistily,
in a moment more quite clearly. Her heart began to beat faster than it
had ever beaten in her young life, her hand closed upon her
bouquet-holder with a nervous strength; she turned her face to the stage
in the curious, excited, happy, and yet fearing tremor that took
possession of her in a second. By some caprice or chance they had come
to see Faust again, and the Marguerite who had been their attraction,
was at this very moment standing upon the stage, repeating softly her
simple, pathetic little love-spell,

"_Er lieber mich, er lieber mich nicht._"

Theo found herself saying it after Marguerite to the beating of her
heart. "_Er lieber mich, er lieber mich nicht. Er lieber mich_,--" and
there she stopped, breathlessly, for the box door opened, and Denis
Oglethorpe entered.

She had altered