His eyes held hers, his fingers pressed her hand; the intense mastery of his will passed through her in a sudden sense of fear.  Her lips parted in deprecation, but he—­closely attentive of her expression—­spoke again quickly.

“When can I see you?” he asked, very quietly.

Again she was about to speak.  She leaned forward, as if some thought long suppressed trembled on her lips; then her courage or her desire failed her.  She leaned back, letting her lashes droop over her eyes.  “I shall be home at eleven,” she said below her breath.

Loder dined with Lakely at Chilcote’s club; and so absorbing were the political interests of the hour—­the resignation of Sir Robert Sefborough, the King’s summoning of Fraide, the probable features of the new ministry—­that it was after nine o’clock when at last he freed himself and drove to the “Arcadian” Theatre.

The sound of music came to him as he entered the theatre —­light, measured music suggestive of tiny streams, toy lambs, and painted shepherdesses.  It sounded singularly inappropriate to his mood—­as inappropriate as the theatre itself with its gay gilding, its pale tones of pink and blue.  It was the setting of a different world—­a world of laughter, light thoughts, and shallow impulses, in which he had no part.  He halted for an instant outside the box to which the attendant had shown him; then, as the door was thrown open, he straightened himself resolutely and stepped forward.

It was the interval between the first and second acts.

The box was in shadow, and Loder’s first impression was of voices and rustling skirts, broken in upon by the murmur of frequent, amused laughter; later, as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, he distinguished the occupants—­two women and a man.  The man was speaking as he entered, and the story he was relating was evidently interesting from the faint exclamations of question and delight that punctuated it in the listeners’ higher, softer voices.  As the new-comer entered they all three turned and looked at him.

“Ah, here comes the legislator!” exclaimed Leonard Kaine.  For it was he who formed the male element in the party.

“The Revolutionary, Lennie!” Lillian corrected, softly.  “Bramfell says he has changed the whole face of things—­” She laughed softly and meaningly as she closed her fan.  “So good of you to come, Jack!” she added.  “Let me introduce you to Miss Esseltyn; I don’t think you two have met.  This is Mr. Chilcote, Mary—­the great, new Mr. Chilcote.”  Again she laughed.

Loder bowed and moved to the front of the box, nodding to Kaine as he passed.

“It’s only for an hour,” he explained to Lillian.  “I have an appointment for eleven.”  He turned and bowed to the third occupant of the box—­a remarkably young and well-dressed girl with wide-awake eyes and a retrousse nose.

“Only an hour!  Oh, how unkind!  How should I punish him, Lennie?” Lillian looked round at Kaine with a lingering, caressing glance.