But this she would not agree to, and pulled herself together and tried to talk gayly when the curtain went down.
And Hector blamed his own folly for having come up to this box at all. Here he must be glued certainly for a few moments; now that they could talk, politeness could not permit him to fly off at once.
"The house is very full," Miss Winmarleigh said—it was a remark she always made on big nights—"and yet hardly any new faces about."
"Yes," said Hector.
"Does it compare with the Opera-House in Paris, Hector?" Miss Winmarleigh hardly ever went abroad.
"No," said Hector.—Not only had Delaval Stirling retained his seat, but Chris Harford, Mrs. Devlyn's brother, had entered the box now and was assiduously paying his court. "Damned impertinence of the woman, forcing her relations upon them like that," he thought.—"Oh—er—no—that is, I think the Paris Opera-House is a beastly place," he said, absently, "a dull, heavy drab brown and dirty gilding, and all the women look hideous in it."
"Really," said Morella. "I thought everything in Paris was lovely."
"You should go over and see for yourself," he said, "then you could judge. I think most things there are lovely, though."
Miss Winmarleigh raised her glasses now and examined the house. Her eyes lighted at last on Theodora.