As these two stood together Rosetta Rosa smiled at him; he gave her a

timid glance and looked away.

When the clapping had ceased and the curtain hid the passions of the

stage, I turned with a sigh of exhaustion and of pleasure to my

hostess, and I was rather surprised to find that she showed not a

trace of the nervous excitement which had marked her entrance into the

box. She sat there, an excellent imitation of a woman of fashion,

languid, unmoved, apparently a little bored, but finely conscious of

doing the right thing.

"It's a treat to see any one enjoy anything as you enjoy this music,"

she said to me. She spoke well, perhaps rather too carefully, and with

a hint of the cockney accent.

"It runs in the family, you know, Mrs. Smith," I replied, blushing for

the ingenuousness which had pleased her.

"Don't call me Mrs. Smith; call me Emmeline, as we are cousins. I

shouldn't at all like it if I mightn't call you Carl. Carl is such a

handsome name, and it suits you. Now, doesn't it, Sully?"

"Yes, darling," Sullivan answered nonchalantly. He was at the back of

the box, and clearly it was his benevolent desire to give me fair

opportunity of a tête-à-tête with his dark and languorous lady.

Unfortunately, I was quite unpractised in the art of maintaining a

tête-à-tête with dark and languorous ladies. Presently he rose.

"I must look up Smart," he said, and left us.

"Sullivan has been telling me about you. What a strange meeting! And

so you are a doctor! You don't know how young you look. Why, I am old

enough to be your mother!"

"Oh, no, you aren't," I said. At any rate, I knew enough to say that.

And she smiled.

"Personally," she went on, "I hate music--loathe it. But it's

Sullivan's trade, and, of course, one must come here."

She waved a jewelled arm towards the splendid animation of the

auditorium.

"But surely, Emmeline," I cried protestingly, "you didn't 'loathe'

that first act. I never heard anything like it. Rosa was simply--well,

I can't describe it."

She gazed at me, and a cloud of melancholy seemed to come into her

eyes. And after a pause she said, in the strangest tone, very quietly: "You're in love with her already."

And her eyes continued to hold mine.

"Who could help it?" I laughed.

She leaned towards me, and her left hand hung over the edge of the

box.

"Women like Rosetta Rosa ought to be killed!" she said, with

astonishing ferocity. Her rich, heavy contralto vibrated through me.

She was excited again, that was evident. The nervous mood had

overtaken her. The long pendent lobes of her ears crimsoned, and her

opulent bosom heaved. I was startled. I was rather more than

startled--I was frightened. I said to myself, "What a peculiar

creature!"




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