‘I hope you don’t want to go,’ he said, holding the door for her to pass back into the box.

‘Where are they—where are they?’ she demanded, remaining in the corridor.

‘I saw our friend—he has found a place in the stalls, near the door by which you go into them—just here under us.’

‘And does he like that better?’

Mr. Wendover’s smile became perfunctory as he looked down at her. ‘Mrs. Berrington has made such an amusing request of him.’

‘An amusing request?’

‘She made him promise not to come back.’

‘Made him promise——?’ Laura stared.

‘She asked him—as a particular favour to her—not to join us again. And he said he wouldn’t.’

‘Ah, the monster!’ Laura exclaimed, blushing crimson.

‘Do you mean poor Mr. Booker?’ Mr. Wendover asked. ‘Of course he had to assure her that the wish of so lovely a lady was law. But he doesn’t understand!’ laughed the young man.

‘No more do I. And where is the lovely lady?’ said Laura, trying to recover herself.

‘He hasn’t the least idea.’

‘Isn’t she with Lady Ringrose?’

‘If you like I will go and see.’

Laura hesitated, looking down the curved lobby, where there was nothing to see but the little numbered doors of the boxes. They were alone in the lamplit bareness; the finale of the act was ringing and booming behind them. In a moment she said: ‘I’m afraid I must trouble you to put me into a cab.’

‘Ah, you won’t see the rest? Do stay—what difference does it make?’ And her companion still held open the door of the box. Her eyes met his, in which it seemed to her that as well as in his voice there was conscious sympathy, entreaty, vindication, tenderness. Then she gazed into the vulgar corridor again; something said to her that if she should return she would be taking the most important step of her life. She considered this, and while she did so a great burst of applause filled the place as the curtain fell. ‘See what we are losing! And the last act is so fine,’ said Mr. Wendover. She returned to her seat and he closed the door of the box behind them.