John Steele did not answer, but Captain Forsythe, without waiting for a reply, turned and started up the broad stairway. The other, after a moment's hesitation, followed, duly entered one of the larger boxes, spoke to Sir Charles and his wife and returned the bow of their niece. Amid varied platitudes Steele's glance turned oftenest to the girl. She was dressed in white; a snowy boa drooped from the slender bare shoulders as if it might any moment slip off; a string of pearls, each one with a pearl of pure light in the center, clasped her throat. In her eyes the brightness seemed to sing of dancing cadenzas; her lips, slightly parted, wore the faint suggestion of a smile, as if some canticle or clear cadence had just trembled from them. The small shoe that peeped from beneath silken folds tapped softly to rhythms yet lingering; on her cheeks two small roses unfolded their glad petals.
"I trust Captain Forsythe did not repeat that absurd remark of mine?" she observed lightly, when John Steele, after a few moments' general talk, found himself somehow by her side.
"About 'commanding'?"
"So he did?" she answered gaily. "He told me he was going to. It is like him; he poses as a bel esprit. Stupid, was it not?"
He answered a word in the negative; the girl smiled; where other men would press the opportunity for a compliment he apparently found no opening.
She waved her hand to the seat next to her, and as he sat down--"Isn't it splendid!" irrelevantly.
"The spectacle, or the opera?" he asked slowly, looking into blue eyes.
"It was the opera I meant. I suppose the spectacle is very grand; but," enthusiastically, "it was the music I was thinking of--how it grips one! Tell me what you think of The Barber, Mr. Steele."
"I'm afraid my views wouldn't be very interesting," he answered. "I know nothing whatever about music."
"Nothing?" Her eyes widened a little; in her accent was mild wonder.