t last the tense moment, the sudden cessation of her husband's foolish
laughter and futile taunts, the supreme denouement with its interval of
breathless silence.

John, who was slowly tearing his program to pieces, turned his head
toward the spot where his brother was sitting in the dimmer light.
Stephen's countenance seemed to have changed into the color as well as
the likeness of those granite rocks. The line of faces on either side of
him appeared now curiously featureless. His eyes were still riveted upon
that closed door, his eyebrows had come together in a stupendous frown.

Sophy had parted the curtain and was peeping through.

"Nothing in the world could make him understand!" she murmured. "Do you
think it would be of any use if we met him outside?"

John shook his head.

"You can't convince people," he replied, "when you are unconvinced
yourself."

The play came to an end presently, amid a storm of applause. The grim
figure in the front of the pit remained motionless and silent. He was
one of the last to leave, and John watched his retreating figure with a
sigh. Sophy drew him away.

"We had better hurry round," she said. "Louise is always very quick
getting ready."

They found her, as a matter of fact, in the act of leaving. She welcomed
them naturally enough, but John fancied that her greeting showed some
signs of embarrassment.

"You knew that I was going out to supper to-night?" she asked. "Or
didn't I tell you? The prince has asked the French people from His
Majesty's to meet M. Graillot at supper. I am hurrying home to dress."

John handed her into her waiting automobile in silence. She glanced into
his face.

"Is anything the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing!"

"The prince would have asked you, without a doubt," Louise continued,
"but he knows that you are not really interested in the stage, and this
party is entirely French--they do not speak a word of English. _Au
revoir!_ Sophy, take care of him, and mind you behave yourselves!"

She waved her hand to them both and threw herself back among the
cushions as the car glided off. John walked to the corner of the street
in gloomy silence. Then he remembered his companion. He stopped short.

"Sophy," he begged, "don't hold me to my promise. I don't want to take
you out to supper to-night. I am not in the humor for it."

"Don't be foolish!" she replied. "If you stay alone, you will only
imagine things and be miserable. We needn't have any su