The horses’ hoofs soon sounded upon the city streets and, when he left her, he went home to dreams such as he had never dreamed before.
CHAPTER XII.
“I KNOW YOU, GWENDOLINE.”
“To-morrow night!” The theatre was packed. It was a benefit—Clovis’ last performance. All N—— shone forth in its best array to bid farewell, for at least a season, to a woman who had won from many much applause——perhaps, from a few, some real love. The right proscenium box was occupied by Mrs. Gwinn, her daughter, Mrs. Dale, Col. Coutell and another gentleman. Gwendoline sat in the shadow of a curtain. She wore a soft black lace, relieved by a bunch of crimson verbenas on the low corsage, their sweet leaves touching her white neck.
Emory was met on the stairway by the usher.
“There’s not a seat to be had in the house,” he said; “but if the party who engaged the left hand box don’t come by the second act, I’ll show you in there, sir.”
He stood through the act, but, when the curtain went down, the usher came to him, saying:
“We have just learned that the people who engaged the box are not coming; so it’s yours, sir, for the night.”
When he had taken his seat, he raised his opera-glass and sought for the woman he loved. At last, he found her! How beautiful she looked that night! He had never seen her dressed in that way before. Her lovely arms shone like alabaster on the velvet cushions near her. Again and again he gazed.
“I must go to her,” he said to himself, “if but to touch her dress!” and, when the curtain fell a second time, he knocked at the door of her box. She started slightly as he came in and took a seat beside her.
“Did you enjoy your drive?”