at he could almost stretch
out his hand to her and take her hand, and tell, by its warmth and
throbbing, that it was a real woman, and not a dream, that filled his
heart?

Major Stuart was put off by some excuse, and at eight o'clock Macleod
walked up to the theatre. He drew near with some apprehension; it almost
seemed to him as though the man in the box-office recognized him, and
knew the reason for his demanding one of those stalls. He got it easily
enough; there was no great run on the new piece, even though Miss
Gertrude White was the heroine. He made his way along the narrow
corridors; he passed into the glare of the house; he took his seat with
his ears dinned by the loud music, and waited. He paid no heed to his
neighbors; he had already twisted up the programme so that he could not
have read it if he had wished; he was aware mostly of a sort of
slightly choking sensation about the throat.

When Gertrude White did appear--she came in unexpectedly--he almost
uttered a cry: and it would have been a cry of delight. For there was a
flesh and blood woman, a thousand times more interesting, and beautiful,
and lovable than all his fancied pictures of her. Look how she
walks--how simply and gracefully she takes off her hat and places it on
the table! Look at the play of light, and life, and gladness on her
face--at the eloquence of her eyes! He had been thinking of her eyes as
too calmly observant and serious: he saw them now, and was amazed at the
difference--they seemed to have so much clear light in them, and
pleasant laughter. He did not fear at all that she should see him. She
was so near--he wished he could take her hand and lead her away. What
concern had these people around with her? This was Gertrude White--whom
he knew. She was a friend of Mrs. Ross's; she lived in a quiet little
home, with an affectionate and provoking sister; she had a great
admiration for Oscar the collie; she had the whitest hand in the world
as she offered you some salad at the small, neat table. What was she
doing here--amidst all this glaring sham--before all these people?
"_Come away quickly!_" his heart cried to her. "_Quick--quick--let us
get away together: there is some mistake--some illusion: outside you
will breathe the fresh air, and get into the reality of the world again;
and you will ask about Oscar, and young Ogilvie: and one might hold your
hand--your real warm hand--and perhaps hold it tight, and not give it up
to any one