"What have you in common with young Lord Hilton?"
The hands dropped from that burning face, and two great, dilating eyes, in which the tears stood, were turned on the angry woman.
"Young Lord Hilton! I do not know him."
The words came faintly from the girl's lips—she was bewildered.
"Why did he drop his glass and bend over the box with that look in his face, then? Why did you start and trample back on your train? Why did you give him that piteous glance just as your eyes closed? The audience might not have seen it, but I did, I did."
"I—I do not understand," faltered the girl.
"Do not understand, miss!"
"How should I, not knowing the person you speak of?"
"Don't lie to me, girl! I am an old bird, and have had my own flights too often not to understand a look when I see it. You have met that man before—I don't know where or how, but you have."
"You speak of a person I never saw or heard of," answered the girl, trembling with inward doubt; "how can I tell you anything about him?"