He waited. The chattering and light laughter in the stalls and throughout the house seemed to lull into a mere hushed murmur, like the fluttering and twittering of a thousand birds. Moncreith, in his tense expectation, had heed only for the face of the girl beside him. He did not see, in the aisle below, Orson Vane, sauntering to his seat. He did not follow the direction of Jeannette Vanlief's eyes, the instant before she turned, and answered.
"I wish you had not spoken. I can't say anything—anything that you would like. Please, please—" She shook her head, in evident distress.
"Ah," he burst out, "then it is true, after all, what I have feared. It is true that you prefer that—that—"
She stayed him with a quick look.
"I did not say I preferred anyone. I simply said that you must consider the question closed. I am sorry, oh, so sorry. I wish a man and a woman could ever be friends, in this world, without risking either love or hate."
"All the same," he muttered, fiercely, "I believe you prefer that fellow—"
"Orson Vane's downstairs," said the Professor entering the box at that moment.
"That damned chameleon!" So Moncreith closed, under his breath, his just interrupted speech.