Milly thinks things are getting too serious. She is glad when at this moment the orchestra strikes up-glad that Mrs. Vivian and her escort are in the act of returning to their places. Guy is not at all glad. The curtain draws up, but he sees nothing-hears nothing of the opera-his eyes are devouring the little hand whose marvellous touch he still feels; he is thinking that it will lie on his arm for a few moments as he takes her to the carriage.

"I beg your pardon," he says, starting as he suddenly perceives Mrs. Vivian trying to attract his attention. It is only to draw his attention to the fact that Schneider has an entirely different set of diamonds from those she wore in the last act. He feels impatient, everything seems coarse and gross to him but the woman who has infatuated him.

The piece is drawing to a close. Guy

betakes himself to look for Mrs. Vivian's

When he returns, the ladies are

servant.

cloaked and shawled.

"Are you sure you are warm

he asks solicitously of Milly.

enough ?"

He is not

aware himself how tender is the inflexion of his voice, but Mrs. Vivian notes it, and smiles to herself. She is not jealous now.. Guy feels the longed-for hand on his arm; he would like to linger for half an hour in the draughty passage, but he thinks of her, and hurries to the carriage. It has been raining; the pavement is quite wet. Milly lifts her dress and discloses a dainty little foot, shod as pretty feet should be-the illusion is complete. If Guy has one weakness greater than another, it is for a pretty foot.

They find Mr. Vivian smoking by a wood fire on their return; he is not in a particularly amiable frame of mind.

"Good night, dear," says his wife sweet

ly; "we've had a charming evening, and won't stop for you to spoil it. Good night, Guy. Come, Milly," and exeunt.

"Thank Heaven for that !" says her lord, graciously, as the door closes upon the two ladies, and Guy's reluctant eyes return from following them. "Come and have a weed." For a wonder Guy would have preferred his own society; his brain is in a state of pleasant confusion, and he wants to think, but he is thoroughly good-natured, and obeys the peremptory summons cheerfully.

Charles Vivian is in a very abusive mood. Everything comes under his sovereign displeasure-his chair, the fire, the hotel, Paris, France, the French-and he gradually comes round to the real cause of his ire, namely, the morality or immorality of Offenbach's most popular opera-which is again lost. in an exposition of the demerits of the sex, called by courtesy le beau.

GUY

but he objects particularly to it in his present mood.

"I say, old fellow," he remarks with some warmth, "it's quite fair for everyone to have his own opinion, but I don't see why, if you don't care for a thing yourself, you should try to depreciate it to those who do. It's all very well to abuse women, but how the deuce should we get on without them ?"

"Well, from a physiological point of view, not at all; but if they hadn't entered

into the plan of creation, I am not sure that we shouldn't have got on a great deal better. But, my good fellow, I don't set up for a woman-hater. No one enjoys the society of a clever, agreeable woman more than I do; what I complain of is being tied to a particular one for the whole of your natural life, suitable or unsuitable. The nicest woman in the world must become odious when you feel you can't get away from her."

"Then with such views," remarks Sir Guy somewhat sententiously, "you had no business to marry."

"Of course not, only unfortunately, you see, I did not get those views until too late. When I fell in love, I thought what a heavenly thing it would be to be always in the society of my idol! Lord! what blind fools men are! My dear boy, when

you are

in love you will be ready to break anyone's