"Ten."
"Well done! Didn't I tell you you would get a stag?"
"It's all owing to the lucky sixpence you gave me," he said; and she laughed, as she turned away to go to her room.
After a welcome bath he dressed as quickly as he could for dinner—dressed so quickly, indeed, that he thought he was entitled to glance at the outside of the pile of letters awaiting him there on the mantelpiece. He had a large correspondence, from all kinds of people; and when he was in a hurry this brief scrutiny of the address was all he allowed himself; he usually could tell if there was anything of unusual importance. On the present occasion the only handwriting that arrested him for a second was Nina's; and some sort of half-understood compunction
made him open her letter. Well, it was not a letter; it was merely a little printed form, such as is put about the stalls and boxes of a theatre when an announcement has to be made. This announcement read as follows:
"Notice: In consequence of the sudden indisposition of Miss Burgoyne, the part of 'Grace Mainwaring' will be sustained this evening by Miss Antonia Ross"
—while above these printed words Nina had written, in a rather trembling hand: "Ah, Leo, if you were only here to-night!" Apparently she had scribbled this brief message before the performance; perhaps haste or nervousness might account for the uncertain writing. So Nina was to have her great opportunity after all, he said to himself, as he went joyfully down-stairs to join the brilliant assemblage in the drawing-room. Poor Nina!—he had of late almost forgotten her existence.