"Why, there's Mr. Popple over there!" exclaimed Mabel Lipscomb, making
large signs across the house with fan and play-bill.

Undine had already become aware that Mabel, planted, blond and brimming,
too near the edge of the box, was somehow out of scale and out of
drawing; and the freedom of her demonstrations increased the effect
of disproportion. No one else was wagging and waving in that way: a
gestureless mute telegraphy seemed to pass between the other boxes.
Still, Undine could not help following Mrs. Lipscomb's glance, and
there in fact was Claud Popple, taller and more dominant than ever, and
bending easily over what she felt must be the back of a brilliant woman.

He replied by a discreet salute to Mrs. Lipscomb's intemperate motions,
and Undine saw the brilliant woman's opera-glass turn in their
direction, and said to herself that in a moment Mr. Popple would be
"round." But the entr'acte wore on, and no one turned the handle of
their door, or disturbed the peaceful somnolence of Harry Lipscomb, who,
not being (as he put it) "onto" grand opera, had abandoned the struggle
and withdrawn to the seclusion of the inner box. Undine jealously
watched Mr. Popple's progress from box to box, from brilliant woman to
brilliant woman; but just as it seemed about to carry him to their door
he reappeared at his original post across the house.

"Undie, do look--there's Mr. Marvell!" Mabel began again, with another
conspicuous outbreak of signalling; and this time Undine flushed to the
nape as Mrs. Peter Van Degen appeared in the opposite box with Ralph
Marvell behind her. The two seemed to be alone in the box--as they had
doubtless been alone all the evening!--and Undine furtively turned to
see if Mr. Van Degen shared her disapproval. But Mr. Van Degen had