“Oho!” said Leonard, with a subdued whistle.  “I hope you’re not sweet on him yourself.”

Esther gave an impatient gesture of denial.  She resented Leonard’s rapid resumption of his olden familiarity.

“Then take care not to be,” he said.  “He’s engaged privately to Miss Hannibal, a daughter of the M.P.  Tom Sledge, the sub-editor of the Cormorant, told me.  You know they collect items about everybody and publish them at what they call the psychological moment.  Graham goes to the Hannibals’ every Saturday afternoon.  They’re very strict people; the father, you know, is a prominent Wesleyan and she’s not the sort of girl to be played with.”

“For Heaven’s sake speak more softly,” said Esther, though the orchestra was playing fortissimo now and they had spoken so quietly all along that Addie could scarcely have heard without a special effort.  “It can’t be true; you are repeating mere idle gossip.”

“Why, they know everything at the Cormorant,” said Leonard, indignantly.  “Do you suppose a man can take such a step as that without its getting known?  Why, I shall be chaffed—­enviously—­about you two to-morrow!  Many a thing the world little dreams of is an open secret in Club smoking-rooms.  Generally more discreditable than Graham’s, which must be made public of itself sooner or later.”

To Esther’s relief, the curtain rose.  Addie woke up and looked round, but seeing that Sidney had not returned, and that Esther was still in colloquy with the invader, she gave her attention to the stage.  Esther could no longer bend her eye on the mimic tragedy; her eyes rested pityingly upon Addie’s face, and Leonard’s eyes rested admiringly upon Esther’s.  Thus Sidney found the group, when he returned in the middle of the act, to his surprise and displeasure.  He stood silently at the back of the box till the act was over.  Leonard James was the first to perceive him; knowing he had been telling tales about him, he felt uneasy under his supercilious gaze.  He bade Esther good-bye, asking and receiving permission to call upon her.  When he was gone, constraint fell upon the party.  Sidney was moody; Addie pensive, Esther full of stifled wrath and anxiety.  At the close of the performance Sidney took down the girls’ wrappings from the pegs.  He helped Esther courteously, then hovered over his cousin with a solicitude that brought a look of calm happiness into Addie’s face, and an expression of pain into Esther’s.  As they moved slowly along the crowded corridors, he allowed Addie to get a few paces in advance.  It was his last opportunity of saying a word to Esther alone.

“If I were you, Miss Ansell, I would not allow that cad to presume on any acquaintance he may have.”

All the latent irritation in Esther’s breast burst into flame at the idea of Sidney’s constituting himself a judge.

“If I had not cultivated his acquaintance I should not have had the pleasure of congratulating you on your engagement,” she replied, almost in a whisper.  To Sidney it sounded like a shout.  His color heightened; he was visibly taken aback.