He was later in getting there than he had expected; indeed, as he made his way to the side of the stage, he discovered that his locum tenens had just been recalled and was singing for the second time the well-known serenade, “The Starry Night”—­and very well he sang it, too, confound him!  Lionel said to himself.  And here was Nina, standing on a small platform at the top of a short ladder, and waiting until the passionate appeal of her sweetheart (in the garden without) should be finished.  She did not know of the presence of the new-comer.  Lionel might have pulled her skirts, it is true, to apprise her of his being there; but that would not have been decorous; besides, he dared not distract her attention from the business of the stage.  As soon as the last verse of the serenade had been sung, with its recurring refrain—­

   “Appear, my sweet, and shame the skies,
    That have no splendor
    That have no splendor like thine eyes”—­

Nina—­that is, Grace Mainwaring—­carefully opened the casement at which she was supposed to be standing.  A flood of moonlight—­lime-light, rather—­fell on her; but Lionel could not see how she looked the part, because her back was towards him.  Very timidly Grace Mainwaring glanced this way and that, to make sure that no one could observe her; she took a rose from her hair, kissed it, and dropped it to her enraptured lover below.  It was the end of the act.  She had to come down quickly from the platform for the recall that resounded through the theatre; she did not chance to notice Lionel; she was led on and across the stage by Harry Thornhill, she bowing repeatedly and gracefully, he reserving his acknowledgment until he had handed her off.  The reception both of them got was most gratifying; there could be no doubt of the sincerity of the applause of this crowded house.

“It seems to me I am not wanted here any more,” Lionel said to himself.  “Even Nina won’t take any notice of the stranger.”

The next moment Nina, who was coming across the stage, caught sight of him, and with a little cry of delight she ran towards him—­yes, ran; for what cared she about carpenters and scene-shifters?—­and caught both his hands in hers.

“Ah, Leo!” she cried, with glad-shining eyes.  “Oh, so brown you are!—­a hunter!—­you are from the forests!  And to-day you arrive—­and already at the theatre—­did you hear the duet—­no?  Ah, it is good to see you again, after so long!—­I could laugh and cry together, it is such a joy to see you—­and see you looking so well—­”

“I say, Nina,” he said, “that fellow Doyle sings tremendously well—­he’s ever so much improved—­they’ll be wanting him to take my place altogether and sending me off into the country.”

“You, Leo!” she said, with a merry laugh, and still she regarded him with those delighted, welcoming eyes.  “Ah, yes, it is likely!  Ah, you will see what reception they will give you on Monday.  Yes, it is in all the papers already—­everywhere I see it; but come—­Miss Girond and I, we have Miss Burgoyne’s room for the present—­you can wait for a few minutes, then I come out to talk to you.”