"Alas! I cannot tell you here; but we must meet no more," said she, sighing deeply.
The pressure of carriages compelled them to separate. Sophia sank back upon her cushioned seat, and covered her face with her handkerchief, as if she wept bitterly. The heart of Charters was filled with acute sorrow and vague alarm; but could he have seen her fair little face, he would have found it convulsed with—laughter!
"Hallo, Charters! so your fair one is gone?" said some one whose voice he recognised; and turning angrily, he found himself face to face with Frederick Shirley, a cornet of his own regiment. "A rare scrape you are in!" the cornet added, with a loud laugh.
"How so, sir?" asked Charters, sharply.
"What on earth tempted you to appear in an opera box with that woman?"
"That woman?" he repeated, fiercely; "what woman—who?"
"She who just left you in that absurd turn out—for it is absurd—horses, harness, and all," continued the unabashed Shirley; "coronets, plating, and panels."
"Who is she?" asked Charters, somewhat crestfallen.
"What—is it possible that you do not know?" queried Shirley, with an air of utter bewilderment.
"I know that she is adorable, and is called Sophia——"