nted her--that no one had
noticed them at all. It was monstrous that such a thing could have been
without their knowing! But there was no face in all the orchestra, the
crowded galleries, or the tiers of boxes to affirm that anything had
happened; no face in their own box had even stirred, but Clara's, and
that had merely turned from profile to the full, faintly inquiring,
mild, and palely pink in the warm reflections of the red velvet
curtains.

And what could Clara have seen, if she had seen at all, but Flora a
little paler than usual with a hand that trembled; and what worse could
Clara conjecture than that she was being silly about Kerr? She turned
slowly toward him, and looked at him with a courage that was part of her
fear. But wasn't she, in a way, being silly about Kerr? What had become
of his expression that had threatened her? There was nothing left of it
but her own violent impression--and the longer Kerr sat there, talking
from her to Clara, from Clara to Judge Buller, his eyes keeping pace
with his light conversational flights, the less Flora felt sure he had
ever fixed her with that intensity.

And yet the thing had actually happened. Its evidence was before her. He
had been silent. Now he was talking. He had been absent. Now she thought
she had never seen him more vividly concerned with the moment. Yet for
all his cool looks and diffuse talk around the box, she felt uneasily
that his concern was pointed at her, and that he would never let her go.
He only waited for the cover of the last act to come back to her
single-handed.

She would have deflected his attack, but it was too quick, too
unexpected for her to do more than sit helpless, and let him lift up her
left hand, delicately between thumb and finger, as if in itself it was
some rare, fine curio, and, bending close, contemplate the sapphire
unwinkingly. She had an instant when she thought she must cry out, but
how impossible in the awful publicity of her place--a pinnacle in the
face of thousands! And after the first fluttered impulse came a certain
reassurance in such a frank and trivial action. For all its intensity,
how could it be construed otherwise than a lively if unconventional
interest? It must have been her own fancy which had discerned anything
more than that in his first look at her. And yet, when he had laid her
hand lightly back, and readjusted his monocle, and looked out, away from
her, across the black house, she didn't know whethe