on her neck, she had a pale radiance of beauty which even at that distance made her a distinguished presence and, with the air that easily attaches to lonely loveliness in public places, an agreeable mystery.  A mystery however she remained to me only for a minute after I had levelled my glass at her:  I feel to this moment the startled thrill, the shock almost of joy, with which I translated her vague brightness into a resurrection of Flora.  I say a resurrection, because, to put it crudely, I had on that last occasion left our young woman for dead.  At present perfectly alive again, she was altered only, as it were, by this fact of life.  A little older, a little quieter, a little finer and a good deal fairer, she was simply transfigured by having recovered.  Sustained by the reflection that even her recovery wouldn’t enable her to distinguish me in the crowd, I was free to look at her well.  Then it was it came home to me that my vision of her in her great goggles had been cruelly final.  As her beauty was all there was of her, that machinery had extinguished her, and so far as I had thought of her in the interval I had thought of her as buried in the tomb her stern specialist had built.  With the sense that she had escaped from it came a lively wish to return to her; and if I didn’t straightway leave my place and rush round the theatre and up to her box it was because I was fixed to the spot some moments longer by the simple inability to cease looking at her.

She had been from the first of my seeing her practically motionless, leaning back in her chair with a kind of thoughtful grace and with her eyes vaguely directed, as it seemed on me, to one of the boxes on my side of the house and consequently over my head and out of my sight.  The only movement she made for some time was to finger with an ungloved hand and as if with the habit of fondness the row of pearls on her neck, which my glass showed me to be large and splendid.  Her diamonds and pearls, in her solitude, mystified me, making me, as she had had no such brave jewels in the days of the Hammond Synges, wonder what undreamt-of improvement had taken place in her fortunes.  The ghost of a question hovered there a moment:  could anything so prodigious have happened as that on her tested and proved amendment Lord Iffield had taken her back?  This could scarce have without my hearing of it; and moreover if she had become a person of such fashion where was the little court one would naturally see at her elbow?  Her isolation was puzzling, though it could easily suggest that she was but momentarily alone.  If she had come with Mrs. Meldrum that lady would have taken advantage of the interval to pay a visit to some other box—­doubtless the box at which Flora had just been looking.  Mrs. Meldrum didn’t account for the jewels, but the revival of Flora’s beauty accounted for anything.  She presently moved her eyes over the house, and I felt them brush me again like the wings of a dove.  I don’t