she was about to consult him regarding the number of buttons, she remembered, in a sudden moment of painful realisation, the end for which they had met.  She turned pale, and the words caught in her throat.  Fortunately, his eyes were turned from her, and he perceived nothing of the nervous agitation which consumed her; but on leaving the shop, a little way down the street, when she had recovered herself sufficiently to observe him, she perceived that he was suffering from the same agitation.  He seemed unable to fix his attention upon the present moment.  He seemed to have wandered far afield, and when with an effort he returned from the ever nearing future, he seemed like a man coming out of another atmosphere—­out of a mist!

At six they were back at their hotel, surveying the sitting-rooms, already littered with cardboard boxes.  But he hurried her off to the Rue de la Paix, saying that she must have some jewels.  Trays of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls were presented to her for choice.

“You’re not looking,” he said, feigning surprise.  “You take no interest in jewels; aren’t you well?”

“Yes, dearest; but I’m bewildered.”

When they returned to the hotel, the gown she was to wear that night at the opera had arrived.

“It must have cost twenty pounds, and I usen’t to spend much more than that in a whole year on my clothes.”

Neither cared to go to the opera; but half-past ten seemed to him quite a proper time for them to return home, and for this makeshift propriety he was so bored with “Lohengrin” that he never saw it afterwards with the old pleasure; and Evelyn’s glances told of the wasted hours.  While Elsa sang her dream, he realised the depth of his folly.  If something were to happen?  If they were to find Mr. Innes waiting at the door of the hotel?  If he were robbed of her, it would serve him right.  The aria in the second act was beautifully sung, and it helped them to forget; but with the rather rough chorus of men in the second half of the second act, their nervous boredom began again, and Evelyn’s face was explicit.

“You’re tired, Evelyn; you’re too tired to listen.”

“Yes, I’m tired, let’s go; give me my cloak.”

“I don’t care much for the nuptial music,” he remarked accidentally; and then, feeling obliged to take advantage of the slip of the tongue, he said, “Lohengrin and Elsa are in the bridal chamber in the next act.”

He felt her hand tremble on his arm.

“In two years hence you’ll be singing here....  But you don’t answer.”

“Owen, dear, I’m thinking of you now.”

Her answer was a delicious flattery, and he hurried her to the carriage.  The moment his arm was about her she leaned over him, and when their lips parted he uttered a little cry.  But in the middle of the sitting-room she stopped and faced him, barring the way.  He took her cloak from her shoulders.

“Owen, dear, if anything should happen.”