And he tried hard for the few moments which remained before the curtain rose again.  Tried hard, but it was all dust and ashes; and as he left the box and returned to his own seat next door his heart felt like lead.  How would he be able to follow the rules he had laid down for himself during his week of meditations in Paris alone?

“You see, dear Lady Bracondale,” Morella Winmarleigh had been saying, “Hector knows that woman with the pearls.  He is sitting talking to her now.”

“Hector knows every one, Morella.  Lend me your glasses, mine do not seem to work to-night.  Yes, I suppose by some she would be considered pretty,” Lady Bracondale continued, when the lorgnette was fixed to her focus.  “What do you think, dear?”

“Pretty!” exclaimed Miss Winmarleigh.  “Oh no!  Much too white, and, oh—­er—­foreign-looking.  We must find out who she is.”

The matter was not difficult.  Half the house had been interested in the new-comer, the beautiful new-comer with the wonderful pearls, who must be worth while in some way, or she would not be under the wing of Florence Devlyn.

By the time Hector again entered their box in the last act, Miss Winmarleigh had obtained all the information she wanted from one of the many visitors who came to pay their court to the heiress.  And the information reassured her.  Only the wife of a colonial millionaire; no one of her world or who could trouble her.

Early next morning, while she sat in her white flannel dressing-gown, her hair screwed in curling-pins, after the Brantinghams’ ball, she wrote in her journal the customary summary of her day, and ended with:  “H.B. returned—­same as usual, running after a new woman, nobody of importance; but I had better watch it, and clinch matters between him and me before Goodwood.  Ordered the pink silk after all, from the new little dressmaker, and beat her down three pounds as to price.  Begun Marvaloso hair tonic.”

Then, as it was broad daylight, after carefully replacing in its drawer this locked chronicle of her maiden thoughts, she retired to bed, to sleep the sleep of those just persons whose digestions are as strong as their absence of imagination.

XVIII

Next day Lady Anningford called, as she had promised, at Claridge’s, and found Mrs. Brown at home, although it was only three o’clock in the afternoon.

She had not two minutes to wait in the well-furnished first-floor sitting-room, but during that time she noticed there were one or two things about which showed the present occupant was a woman of taste, and there were such quantities of flowers.  Flowers, flowers, everywhere.

Theodora entered already dressed for her afternoon drive.  She came forward with that perfect grace which characterized her every movement.

If she felt very timid and nervous it did not show in her sweet face, and Lady Anningford perceived Hector had every excuse for his infatuation.