"I wonder how much of it was business, and how much was..." Beecher broke off and a second time gestured in the direction of the box.
"Who knows?" said Gunther, with a shrug of his shoulders.
Beecher glanced down the corridor to assure himself there was yet time, and opened the door.
In the front row of the box Mrs. Bloodgood was laughing gaily with three or four young men who were bending flatteringly over her. In the back Bloodgood was seated, dozing in a corner. Beecher hardly recognized him. Of the once rugged physique nothing remained but a senile fluttering. Some mysterious disease had struck him down and marked his hours. At this moment Mrs. Bloodgood, aware of a shadow in the doorway, turned and met the profound and memory-troubled gaze of the young man. She recognized him and in the same moment divined his thoughts. By a movement which she could not control, she brought her fan, which had been extended in a tantalizing gesture under the eyes of one of her satellites, into a protective barrier, as though to shield herself from the too frank melancholy of this disturbing gaze. Their eyes met. Beecher inclined his head. It was at the same time a salutation and an adieu.
He found Gunther outside their box.
"The old fellow's in a pretty bad way," said his friend, noticing his disturbed look.
"It wasn't that!..."
"Yes,—she's taking her revenge!" said Gunther with a laugh.
To shake off this impression Beecher touched his friend on the arm, and forcing a smile, said, with a nod towards the box where Miss Fanning was waiting:
"So it's serious, Bruce?"