Susie dressed herself for Covent Garden as only she could do.  Her gown pleased her exceedingly, not only because it was admirably made, but because it had cost far more than she could afford.  To dress well was her only extravagance.  It was of taffeta silk, in that exquisite green which the learned in such matters call Eau de Nil; and its beauty was enhanced by the old lace which had formed not the least treasured part of her inheritance.  In her hair she wore an ornament of Spanish paste, of exquisite workmanship, and round her neck a chain which had once adorned that of a madonna in an Andalusian church.  Her individuality made even her plainness attractive.  She smiled at herself in the glass ruefully, because Arthur would never notice that she was perfectly dressed.

When she tripped down the stairs and across the pavement to the cab with which he fetched her, Susie held up her skirt with a grace she flattered herself was quite Parisian.  As they drove along, she flirted a little with her Spanish fan and stole a glance at herself in the glass.  Her gloves were so long and so new and so expensive that she was really indifferent to Arthur’s inattention.

Her joyous temperament expanded like a spring flower when she found herself in the Opera House.  She put up her glasses and examined the women as they came into the boxes of the Grand Tier.  Arthur pointed out a number of persons whose names were familiar to her, but she felt the effort he was making to be amiable.  The weariness of his mouth that evening was more noticeable because of the careless throng.  But when the music began he seemed to forget that any eye was upon him; he relaxed the constant tension in which he held himself; and Susie, watching him surreptitiously, saw the emotions chase one another across his face.  It was now very mobile.  The passionate sounds ate into his soul, mingling with his own love and his own sorrow, till he was taken out of himself; and sometimes he panted strangely.  Through the interval he remained absorbed in his emotion.  He sat as quietly as before and did not speak a word.  Susie understood why Arthur, notwithstanding his old indifference, now showed such eager appreciation of music; it eased the pain he suffered by transferring it to an ideal world, and his own grievous sorrow made the music so real that it gave him an enjoyment of extraordinary vehemence.  When it was all over and Isolde had given her last wail of sorrow, Arthur was so exhausted that he could hardly stir.

But they went out with the crowd, and while they were waiting in the vestibule for space to move in, a common friend came up to them.  This was Arbuthnot, an eye-specialist, whom Susie had met on the Riviera and who, she presently discovered, was a colleague of Arthur’s at St Luke’s.  He was a prosperous bachelor with grey hair and a red, contented face, well-to-do, for his practice was large, and lavish with his money.  He had taken Susie out to luncheon once or twice in Monte Carlo; for he liked women, pretty or plain, and she attracted him by her good-humour.  He rushed up to them now and wrung their hands.  He spoke in a jovial voice.