e fire
in his eyes were terrible to see. Plainly enough she saw them; but she
was only half-terrified; she seemed aroused to a sort of whirlwind of
passion.

"Oh, say it!" she cried. "Why don't you say it? Do you think I don't see
it in your eyes? '_I hate you!_'--that's what you want to say; and you
haven't the courage--you're a man, and you haven't the courage!"

That look did not depart from his face; but he stood in silence for a
second, as if considering whether he should speak. His self-control
infuriated her all the more.

"Do you think I care?" she exclaimed, with panting breath. "Do you
think I care whether you hate me or not--whether you go sighing all day
after your painted Italian doll? And do you imagine I want to wear this
thing--that it is for this I will put up with every kind of insult and
neglect? Not I!"

She pulled the bit of india-rubber from her finger; she dragged off the
engagement-ring and dashed it on the floor in front of his feet--while
her eyes sparkled with rage, and the cherry-paste hardly concealed the
whiteness of her lips.

"Take it--and give it to the organ-grinder!" she called, in the madness
of her rage.

He did not even look whither the ring had rolled. Without a single word
he quite calmly turned and opened the door and passed outside. Nay, he
was so considerate as to leave the door open for her; for he knew she
would be wanted on the stage directly. He himself went up into the
wings--in his gay costume of satin and silk and powdered wig and
ruffles.

Had the audience only known, during the last act of this comedy, what
fierce passions were agitating the breasts of the two chief performers
in this pretty play, they might have looked on with added interest. How
could they tell that the gallant and dashing Harry Thornhill was in his
secret heart filled with anger and disdain whenever he came near his
charming sweetheart? how could they divine that the coquettish Grace
Mainwaring was not thinking of her wiles and graces at all, but was on
the road to a most piteous repentance? The one was saying to himself,
"Very well, let the vixen go to the devil; a happy riddance!" and the
other was saying, "Oh, dear me, what have I done?--why did he put me in
such a passion?" But the public in the stalls were all unknowing. They
looked on and laughed, or looked on and sat solemn and stolid, as
happened to be their nature; and then they slightly clapped their
pale-gloved hands, and rose a