coquetries and wilful graces again, with all her friends smiling around
her, and life lying fair before her. She meets him by accident.
Suffering gives him a certain sort of dignity: but how is one to retain
patience with the blindness of this insufferable ass? Don't you see,
man--don't you see that she is waiting to throw herself into your arms?
and you, you poor ninny, are giving yourself airs, and doing the grand
heroic! And then the shy coquetry comes in again. The pathetic eyes are
full of a grave compassion, if he must really never see her more. The
cat plays with the poor mouse, and pretends that really the tender thing
is gone away at last. He will take this half of a broken sixpence back:
it was given in happier times. If ever he should marry, he will know
that one far away prays for his happiness. And if--if these unwomanly
tears--And suddenly the crass idiot discovers that she is laughing at
him, and that she has secured him and bound him as completely as a fly
fifty times wound round by a spider. The crash of applause that
accompanied the lowering of the curtain stunned Macleod, who had not
quite come back from dreamland. And then, amidst a confused roar the
curtain was drawn a bit back, and she was led--timidly smiling, so that
her eyes seemed to take in all the theatre at once--across the stage by
that same poor fool of a lover; and she had two or three bouquets thrown
her, notably one from Mrs. Ross's box. Then she disappeared, and the
lights were lowered, and there was a dull shuffling of people getting
their cloaks and hats and going away.

"Mrs. Ross wants to see you for a minute," Ogilvie said.

"Yes," Macleod answered, absently.

"And we have time yet, if you like, to get into a hansom and drive along
to Lady Beauregard's."