The scene was one of luxury that had become a fine art, every detail being in itself so faultless, it required but the completing touch of contiguity to render it a rounded whole of perfection. The onlooker might well pause and ask himself if the developments of wealth, refinement, and culture, could reach a higher degree than was displayed that evening within the walls of this miniature La Scala.
The curtain rose on the perennially new and refreshing _Box and Cox_, in which Miss James again distinguished herself and scored her final points to rounds of ringing laughter and spontaneous applause, which savoured more of the "Surrey side," than of a languid _nil admirari_ audience of this critical century. Between the farce and the serious work of the evening music held sway, and La Diva's glorious voice captivated all hearts and brains in Owen Meredith's "Aux Italiens," its final appealing line rounding each verse with the pathetic cry,
"Non ti scorda di me, non ti scorda di me!"
It was during this interval that Mr. Tremain, making his appearance in the Greenroom, found Miss Hildreth already there awaiting her first call. She was alone for the moment, and was standing with bent head and clasped hands, leaning against the tall carved chimney-screen that shielded the low burning logs on the hearth.
The long folds of her first costume, a _négligée_ of Wörth's conception, fell about her in a clinging amber sheen, across which the flots and draperies of _duchesse_ lace fell in filmy cascades. Philip stopped involuntarily for a moment, and looked at her. Her marvellous loveliness struck him afresh, as, indeed, it had a habit of doing whenever he came upon her unawares. This attribute was indeed one of Miss Hildreth's chief charms; you forgot her actual loveliness when away from her, and were apt to criticise not only it, but her. It was a criticism, however, that fell to pieces at the first contact with her, and which left you only conscious of her beauty and her fascination. You could not analyse her when she smiled, or when her deep, tender, dark blue eyes looked full into your own.
Miss Hildreth had not heard Philip's entrance; and he thus had an opportunity of watching her undisturbed and unconscious. Despite the make-up of rouge and bismuth, put on so delicately as to be almost imperceptible, the face was at that moment a sad one. All the fire, and life, and spirit, had gone out of it, and in their places an expression of weariness and despondency had crept about the mouth and eyes, which was strangely pathetic because so at variance with Miss Hildreth's usual bearing. Even the attitude, half-listless, half-weary, bespoke a state of mental depression and dejection.