Mr. Hermann Goetze shook his head; he had tried all remedies in vain; the dentist was the only resort, and he promised to go to Evelyn’s when the rehearsal was over, and he retired from the box, holding his handkerchief to his face.  When he got on to the stage, Evelyn was glad to see that he was a little better, and was able to give some directions regarding the stage management.  She was genuinely sorry for him, for she had had toothache herself.  Nevertheless, it was unfortunate that they had not been able to settle about Mademoiselle Helbrun’s engagement.  She pondered how this might be effected; perhaps, after rehearsal, Mr. Hermann Goetze might be feeling better, or she might ask him to dinner.  As she considered the question, her eyes wandered over the auditorium in quest of Ulick Dean.

She spied him sitting in the far corner, and wondered when he would look in her direction, and then remembering what he had said about the transmission of thought between sympathetic affinities, she sought to reach him with hers.  She closed her eyes so that she might concentrate her will sufficiently for it to penetrate his brain.  She sat tense with her desire, her hands clenched for more than a minute, but he did not answer to her will, and its tension relaxed in spite of herself.  “He sits there listening to the music as if he had never heard a note of it before.  Why does he not come to me?” As if in answer, Ulick got out of his stall and walked toward the entrance, seemingly in the intention of leaving the theatre.  Evelyn felt that she must speak to him, and she was about to call to one of the chorus and ask him to tell Mr. Dean that she wanted to speak to him, but a vague inquietude seemed to awaken in him, and he seemed uncertain whether to go or stay, and he looked round the theatre as if seeking someone.  He looked several times in the direction of Evelyn’s box without seeing her, and she was at last obliged to wave her hand.  Then the dream upon his face vanished, and his eyes lit up, and his nod was the nod of one whose soul is full of interesting story.

He had one of those long Irish faces, all in a straight line, with flat, slightly hollow cheeks, and a long chin.  It was clean shaven, and a heavy lock of black hair was always falling over his eyes.  It was his eyes that gave its sombre ecstatic character to his face.  They were large, dark, deeply set, singularly shaped, and they seemed to smoulder like fires in caves, leaping and sinking out of the darkness.  He was a tall, thin young man, and he wore a black jacket and a large, blue necktie, tied with the ends hanging loose over his coat.  Evelyn received him effusively, stretching both hands to him and telling him she was so glad he had come.  She said she was delighted with his melodies, and would sing them as soon as she got an occasion.  But he did not seem as pleased as he should have done; and sitting, his eyes fixed on the floor—­now and then he muttered a word of thanks.  His silence embarrassed