‘Of course,’ Harry remarked hastily to Leonora, ’Princess Puck isn’t at all like this.  It’s an idyll sort of thing, you know.  By the way, hadn’t I better go out and offer a reward for the recovery of Twemlow?’

He returned just as the curtain went up, bringing a faint odour of whisky, but without Twemlow.

A few moments later, while the principal pretty girl was warbling an invitation to her lover amid the diversions of Narragansett Pier, the latch of the door clicked and Arthur noiselessly entered the box.  He nodded cheerfully, murmuring ‘Sorry I’m so late,’ and then shook hands with Leonora.  She could not find her voice.  In the hazard of rearranging the seats, an operation which Harry from diffidence conducted with a certain clumsiness, Arthur was placed behind Milly while Leonora had Harry by her side.

‘You’ve missed all the first act, and everyone says it’s the best,’ Milly remarked, leaning towards Arthur with an air of intimacy.  And Harry expressed agreement.

‘But you must remember I saw it in New York two years ago,’ Leonora heard him whisper in reply.

She liked his avuncular, slightly quizzical attitude to them.  He reinforced the elder generation in the box, reducing by his mere presence the two young and callow creatures to their proper position in the scheme of things.

And now the question of her future relations with Arthur, which hitherto she had in a manner shunned, at once became peremptory for Leonora.  She was conscious of a passionate tenderness for him; he seemed to her to have qualities, indefinable and exquisite touches of character, which she had never observed in any other human being.  But she was in control of her heart.  She had chosen, and she knew that she could abide by her choice.  She was uplifted by the force of one of those tremendous and invincible resolutions which women alone, with their instinctive bent towards martyrdom, are capable of making.  And the resolution was not the fruit of the day, the result of all that she had recently seen and thought.  It was a resolution independent of particular circumstances, a simple admission of the naked fact that she could not desert her daughters.  If Ethel had been shrewd and worldly, and Rose temperate in her altruism, and Milly modest and sage, the resolution would not have been modified.  She dared not abandon her daughters:  the blood in her veins, the stern traits inherited from her irreproachable ancestors, forbade it.  She might be convinced in argument—­and she vividly remembered everything that Arthur had said—­she might admit that she was wrong, that her sacrifice would be futile, and that she was about to be guilty of a terrible injustice to Arthur and to herself.  No matter!  She would not leave the girls.  And if in thus obstinately remaining at their service she committed a sin, she could only ask pardon for that sin.  She could only beg Arthur to forgive her, and assure him that he would forget, and submit to his reproaches in silence and humility.  Now and then she gazed at him, but his eyes were always fixed on the stage, and the corners of his mouth turned down into a slightly ironic smile.  She wondered if he expected to be able to persuade her, and whether an opportunity to convince him and so end the crisis would occur that evening, or whether she would be compelled to wait through another night.