“No,” said Hector.—­Not only had Delaval Stirling retained his seat, but Chris Harford, Mrs. Devlyn’s brother, had entered the box now and was assiduously paying his court.  “Damned impertinence of the woman, forcing her relations upon them like that,” he thought.—­“Oh—­er—­no—­that is, I think the Paris Opera-House is a beastly place,” he said, absently, “a dull, heavy drab brown and dirty gilding, and all the women look hideous in it.”

“Really,” said Morella.  “I thought everything in Paris was lovely.”

“You should go over and see for yourself,” he said, “then you could judge.  I think most things there are lovely, though.”

Miss Winmarleigh raised her glasses now and examined the house.  Her eyes lighted at last on Theodora.

“Dear Lady Bracondale,” she said, “do look at that woman in black velvet.  What splendid pearls!  Do you think they are real?  Who is it, I wonder, with Florence Devlyn?”

But Hector felt he could not stay and hear their remarks about his darling, so he got up, and, murmuring he must have a talk to his friends in the house, left the box.

He was thankful at least Theodora was sitting on the pit tier—­he could walk along the gangway and talk to her from the front.

She saw him coming and was prepared, so no wild roses tinged her cheeks, and her greeting was gravely courteous, that was all.

An icy feeling crept over him.  What was the change, this subtle change in voice and eyes?  He suddenly had the agonizing sensation of being a great way off from her, shut out of paradise—­a stranger.  What had happened?  What had he done?

Every one knows the Opera-House, and where he would be standing, and the impossibility of saying anything but the most banal commonplaces, looking up like that.

Then Josiah leaned forward, proud of his acquaintanceship with a peer, and said in a distinct voice: 

“Won’t you come into the box, Lord Bracondale?  There is plenty of room.”  He had not taken to either Delaval Stirling or Chris Harford, and thought a change of company would not come amiss.  They had ignored him, and should pay for it.

Hector made his way joyfully to the back, and, entering, was greeted affably by his host, so the other two men got up to leave to make room for him.

He sat down behind Theodora, and Mrs. Devlyn saw it would be wiser to conciliate Josiah by her interested conversation.

She hoped to make a good thing out of this millionaire and his unknown wife, and it would not do to ruffle him at this stage of the affair.

Theodora hardly turned, thus Hector was obliged to lean quite forward to speak to her.

“I have seen my sister to-night,” he said, “and she wants so much to meet you.  I said perhaps she would find you to-morrow.  Will you be at home in the afternoon any time?”

“I expect so,” replied Theodora.  She was longing to face him, to ask him if it was true he was going to marry that large, pink-faced young woman opposite, who was now staring down upon them with fixed opera-glasses; but she felt frozen, and her voice was a frozen voice.