This was a busy act for Nina; and the next time he had an opportunity of talking with her was after she had dressed herself in her bridal robes and was come up ready to go on the stage.  Nina looked a little self-conscious when she first encountered him in this attire; perhaps she was afraid of his contrasting her appearance with that of Miss Burgoyne.  If he did, it was certainly not to Nina’s disadvantage.  No; Nina was much more distinguished-looking and refined than the pert little doll-like bride represented by Miss Burgoyne; she wore the gorgeous costume of flowered white satin with ease and grace; and her portentous white wig, with its feathered brilliants and strings of pearls, seemed to add a greater depth and softness and mild lustre to her dark, expressive eyes.  For an instant, as she came up to him, those beautiful, liquid eyes were turned to the ground.

“I did not choose anything, Leo,” she said, modestly; “I have had to copy Miss Burgoyne.”

“Well, there’s a difference somehow, Nina,” said he, “and I think Miss Burgoyne had better begin and copy you.”

For a swift instant she raised her eyes; she was more than pleased.  But she said nothing—­indeed, she had now to go on the stage.  And if he had contrasted her appearance favorably with that of Miss Burgoyne, he was now inclined to give a similar verdict with regard to her acting.  It certainly wanted the self-confidence of long experience and also the emphasis and exaggeration of comedy-opera; it was not nearly impudent enough for the upper gallery; but it was graceful and natural to a degree that surprised him.  As for her voice, that was incomparably better than Miss Burgoyne’s; it was a fresh, sympathetic, finely modulated voice that had been uninjured by excessive training or excessive work.  Lionel was quite proud of his protegee; unseen, here in the wings, he could applaud as loudly as any; if Nina did not hear, she must have been deaf.  And when she came off at the end of the act—­or, rather, immediately after the recall, which was as enthusiastic as the soul of actor or actress could desire—­there was no stint to his praise; and Nina’s heartfelt pleasure on hearing this warm commendation shone through all her stage make-up.  He asked if he should wait to act as escort to Miss Girond and herself; but Nina said no; Miss Girond and she went home every night by themselves in a four-wheeled cab; she knew he must be tired after his long journey; and he must go away and get to bed at once.  So Lionel shook hands with her and left the theatre, and walked carelessly and absently home to his lodgings in Piccadilly.