d, noble brow. "My darling, you possess the greatest
wisdom--the wisdom of innocence. I would not change it for all the
learning of the sagest philosophers!"

"You really mean that?" she asked half timidly.

"I really mean that!" he answered fondly. "Little sceptic! As if I would
ever say anything to you that I did _not_ mean! I shall be glad when
we're out of London and back at the Manor--then I shall have you all to
myself again--for a time, at least."

She raised her eyes full of sudden joy,--all traces of her former
depression had disappeared.

"And _I_ shall have _you_!" she said gladly. "And we shall not
disappoint Lady Winsleigh to-night, Philip--I am not tired--and I shall
be pleased to go to the theatre."

"All right!" responded Philip cheerfully. "So let it be! Only I don't
believe you'll like the piece,--though it certainly won't make you cry.
Yet I doubt if it will make you laugh, either. However, it will be a new
experience for you."

And a new experience it decidedly was,--an experience, too, which
brought some strange and perplexing results to Thelma of which she never
dreamed.

She went to the Brilliant, accompanied by Lady Winsleigh and her
husband,--Neville, the secretary, making the fourth in their box; and
during the first and second scene of the performance the stage effects
were so pretty and the dancing so graceful that she nearly forgot the
bewildered astonishment she had at first felt at the extreme scantiness
of apparel worn by the ladies of the ballet. They represented birds,
bees, butterflies, and the other winged denizens of the
forest-world,--and the _tout-ensemble_ was so fairy-like and brilliant
with swift movement, light, and color that the eye was too dazzled and
confused to note objectionable details. But in the third scene, when a
plump, athletic young woman leaped on the stage in the guise of a
humming-bird, with a feather tunic so short that it was a mere
waist-belt of extra width,--a flesh-colored bodice about three inches
high, and a pair of blue wings attached to her fat shoulders, Thelma
started and half rose from her seat in dismay, while a hot tide of color
crimsoned her cheeks. She looked nervously at her husband.

"I do not think this is pleasant to see," she said in a low tone. "Would
it not be best to go away? I--I think I would rather be at home."

Lady Winsleigh heard and smiled,--a little mocking smile.

"Don't be silly, child!" she said. "If you leave the t