me no rest' with such a _verve_ that the enthusiasm of the
audience was unbounded; even Miss Burgoyne--Miss Grace Mainwaring, that
is, who was perched up on a bit of scaffolding in order to throw a rose
to her lover--listened with a new interest, instead of being busy with
her ribbons and the set of her hair; and when she opened the casement in
answer to his impassioned appeal, she kissed the crimson-cotton blossom
thrice ere she dropped it to her enraptured swain below. This was all
very well; but when the comic man took possession of the stage,
Lionel--instead of going off to his dressing-room to glance at an
evening paper or have a chat with some acquaintance--remained in the
wings, looking on with an indescribable loathing. This hideous
farcicality seemed more vulgar than ever? what would Honnor Cunyngham
think of his associates? He felt as if he were an accomplice in foisting
this wretched music-hall stuff on the public. And the mother--the tall
lady with the proud, fine features and the grave and placid voice--what
would she think of the new acquaintance whom her daughter had introduced
to her? Had it been Lady Adela or her sisters, he would not have cared
one jot. They were proud to be in alliance with professional people;
they flattered themselves that they rather belonged to the set--actors,
authors, artists, musicians, those busy and eager amateurs considered to
be, like themselves, of imagination all compact. But that he should have
asked Honnor Cunyngham to come and look on at the antics of this gaping
and grinning fool; that she should know he had to consort with such
folk; that she should consider him an aider and abettor in putting this
kind of entertainment before the public--this galled him to the quick.
The murmur of the Aivron and the Geinig seemed dinning in his ears. If
only he could have thrown aside these senseless trappings--if he were an
under-keeper now, or a water-bailiff, or even a gillie looking after the
dogs and the ponies, he could have met the gaze of those clear hazel
eyes without shame. But here he was the coadjutor of this grimacing
clown; and she was sitting in her box there--and thinking.

"What is it, Leo?" said Nina, coming up to him rather timidly. "You are
annoyed."

"I have made a mistake, that is all," he said, rather impatiently. "I
shouldn't have persuaded those two ladies to come to the theatre; I
forgot what kind of thing we played in; I might as well have asked them
to