out her ignorances that jarred on Undine's subtler methods. It was
precisely at this point that there dawned on Undine what was to be one
of the guiding principles of her career: "IT'S BETTER TO WATCH THAN TO
ASK QUESTIONS."

The curtain fell again, and Undine's eyes flew back to the Van Degen
box. Several men were entering it together, and a moment later she saw
Ralph Marvell rise from his seat and pass out. Half-unconsciously she
placed herself in such a way as to have an eye on the door of the box.
But its handle remained unturned, and Harry Lipscomb, leaning back
on the sofa, his head against the opera cloaks, continued to breathe
stentorously through his open mouth and stretched his legs a little
farther across the threshold...

The entr'acte was nearly over when the door opened and two gentlemen
stumbled over Mr. Lipscomb's legs. The foremost was Claud Walsingham
Popple; and above his shoulder shone the batrachian countenance of Peter
Van Degen. A brief murmur from Mr. Popple made his companion known to
the two ladies, and Mr. Van Degen promptly seated himself behind Undine,
relegating the painter to Mrs. Lipscomb's elbow.

"Queer go--I happened to see your friend there waving to old Popp across
the house. So I bolted over and collared him: told him he'd got to
introduce me before he was a minute older. I tried to find out who
you were the other day at the Motor Show--no, where was it? Oh, those
pictures at Goldmark's. What d'you think of 'em, by the way? You ought
to be painted yourself--no, I mean it, you know--you ought to get old
Popp to do you. He'd do your hair ripplingly. You must let me come and
talk to you about it... About the picture or your hair? Well, your hair
if you don't mind. Where'd you say you were staying? Oh, you LIVE here,