n his few words of presentation which gave a certain
significance to the ceremony.

From the club, where the question of John's proposed membership, the
prince acting as his sponsor, was favorably discussed with several
members of the committee, they drove to Covent Garden, and for the first
time in his life John entered the famous opera-house. The prince,
preceded by an attendant, led the way to a box upon the second tier. A
woman turned her head as they entered and stretched out her hand, which
the prince raised to his lips.

"You see, I have taken you at your word, Eugene," she remarked. "So many
evenings I have looked longingly from my stall at your empty box.
To-night I summoned up all my courage, and here I am!"

"You give me a double pleasure, dear lady," the prince declared. "Not
only is it a joy to be your host, but you give me also the opportunity
of presenting to you my friend, John Strangewey. Strangewey, this is my
very distant relative and very dear friend, Lady Hilda Mulloch."

Lady Hilda smiled graciously at John. She was apparently of a little
less than middle age, with dark bands of chestnut hair surmounted by a
tiara. Her face was the face of a clever and still beautiful woman; her
figure slender and dignified; her voice low and delightful.

"Are you paying your nightly homage to Calavera, Mr. Strangewey, or are
you only an occasional visitor?" she asked.

"This is my first visit of any sort to Covent Garden," John told her.

She looked at him with as much surprise as good breeding permitted.
John, who had not as yet sat down, seemed almost preternaturally tall in
that small box, with its low ceiling. He was looking around the house
with the enthusiasm of a boy. Lady Hilda glanced away from him toward
the prince, and smiled; then she looked back at John. There was
something like admiration in her face.

"Do you live abroad?" she asked.

John shook his head.

"I live in Cumberland," he said. "Many people here seem to think that
that is the same thing. My brother and I have a farm there."

"But you visit London occasionally, surely?"

"I have not been in London," John told her, "since I passed through it
on my way home from Oxford, eight years ago."

"But why not?" she persisted.

John laughed a little.

"Well, really," he admitted, "when I come to think of it seriously, I
scarcely know. I have lived alone with an elder brother, who hates
London and would be very unhappy if I got into