“I should think I do doubt it, my boy.  Hush!  Now that the ballet is over, we are annoying people by talking.”

“You are right,” replied Conolly.  “Aha!  Here is Miss Lalage again.”

Marmaduke raised his opera-glass to his eyes, eager for another smile from the actress.  He seemed about to be gratified; for her glance was travelling toward him along the row of stalls.  But it was arrested by Conolly, on whom she looked with perceptible surprise and dismay.  Lind, puzzled, turned toward his companion, and found him smiling maliciously at Mademoiselle Lalage, who recovered her vivacity with an effort, and continued her part with more nervousness than he had ever seen her display before.

Shortly before the curtain fell, they left the theatre, and re-entered it by the stage door.

“Queer place, isnt it?” said Lind.

Conolly nodded, but went forward like one well accustomed to the dingy labyrinth of old-fashioned stages.  Presently they came upon Lalage.  She was much heated by her exertions, thickly painted, and very angry.

“Well?” she said quarrelsomely.

Marmaduke, perceiving that her challenge was not addressed to him, but to Conolly, looked from one to the other, mystified.

“I have come to see you act at last,” said Conolly.

“You might have told me you were coming.  I could have got you a stall, although I suppose you would have preferred to throw away your money like a fool.”

“I must admit, my dear,” said Conolly, “that I could have spent it to much greater advantage.”

“Indeed! and you!” she said, turning to Lind, whose deepening color betrayed his growing mortification:  “what is the matter with you?”

“I have played a trick on your friend,” said Conolly.  “He suggested this visit; and I did not tell him of the relation between us.  Finding us on terms of familiarity, if not of affection, he is naturally surprised.”

“As I have never tried to meddle with your private affairs,” said Marmaduke to Lalage, “I need not apologize for not knowing your husband.  But I regret——­”

The actress laughed in spite of her vexation.  “Why, you silly old thing!” she exclaimed, “he is no more my husband than you are!”

“Oh!” said Marmaduke.  “Indeed!”

“I am her brother,” said Conolly considerately, stifling a smile.

“Why,” said Mademoiselle Lalage fiercely, raising her voice, “what else did you think?”

“Hush,” said Conolly, “we are talking too much in this crowd.  You had better change your dress, Susanna, and then we can settle what to do next.”

“You can settle what you please,” she replied.  “I am going home.”

“Mr. Lind has suggested our supping together,” said Conolly, observing her curiously.

Susanna looked quickly at them.

“Who is Mr. Lind?” she said.

“Your friend, of course,” said Conolly, with an answering flash of intelligence that brought out the resemblance between them startlingly.  “Mr. Marmaduke Lind.”