"I know I'm a jealous brute, but I can't stand it when these other
fellows send you things."

"You promised me you wouldn't mind."

"I know, but--oh, confound it!" A faint tap at the door was followed
by the entrance of a dresser. Challoner moved away.

"After the first act, then," he said.

"Yes." But she did not look at him.

He went away disconsolately and round to the stage box. He was
conscious of a faint depression. Cynthia had not been pleased to see
him--had not been expecting him. Something was the matter. He had
vexed her. What had she written to him about, he wondered?

He looked round the house anxiously. It was well filled and his brow
cleared. He hated Cynthia to have to play to a poor house--she was so
wonderful!

A lady in the stalls below bowed to him. Challoner stared, then
returned the bow awkwardly.

Who the dickens was she, he asked himself?

She was middle-aged and grey-haired, and she had a girl in a white
frock sitting beside her.

They were both looking up at him and smiling. There was something