mass of orange-hued faces they seemed across the footlights—­greeted the prima-donna and the popular young baritone.  Nina was here also, in her subordinate part.  And all that Miss Burgoyne could do, on the stage and off the stage, to attract his attention, did not hinder Lionel from watching, with the most affectionate interest, the manner in which his protegee, his old comrade Nina, was acquitting herself.  Clara was perhaps a little bit too eager and anxious; she anticipated her cues; her parted lips seemed to repeat what was being said to her; lights and shadows of expression chased each other over the mobile features and brightened or darkened her eloquent eyes; and in her passages with Grace Mainwaring she was most effusive, though that other young lady maintained a much more matter-of-fact demeanor.

“Capital, Nina!  Very well done!” Lionel exclaimed (to himself) in the wings.  “You’re on the right track.  It is easier to tone down than to brace up.  Don’t be afraid—­keep it going—­you’ll grow business-like soon enough.”

Here Clara had to come tripping off the stage, and Lionel had to go on; he had no opportunity of speaking to her until the end of the act, when they chanced to meet in the long glazed corridor.

“You’re a bit nervous to-night, Nina,” he said, in a kindly way.

“But so as to be bad?” she said, quickly and anxiously.

“It was very well done indeed—­it was splendid—­but you almost take too much pains.  Most girls with a voice like yours would merely sing a part like that and think the management was getting enough.  I suppose you don’t know yourself that you keep repeating what the other person is saying to you—­as if he weren’t getting on fast enough—­”

Nina paused for a second.

“Yes, I understand—­I understand what you mean,” she said, rather slowly; then she continued, in her usual way, “But to-night, Leo, I am anxious—­oh, there are so many things!—­this is the first time I act with Miss Burgoyne; and I wish them not to say I am a stick—­for your sake, Leo—­you brought me here—­I must do what I can.”

“Oh, Nina, you don’t half value yourself!” he said.  “You think far too little of yourself.  You’re a most wonderful creature to find in a theatre.  I consider that Lehmann is under a deep obligation to me for giving him the chance of engaging you.  By the way, have you heard what he means to do on Sunday week?”

“No—­not at all!”

“Saturday week is the 400th night,” he continued; “and to celebrate it, Lehmann is going to give the principal members of the company, and a few friends, I suppose, a dinner at the Star and Garter at Richmond.  Haven’t you heard?—­but of course he’ll send you a card of invitation.  The worst of it is that it is no use driving down at this time of the year; I suppose we shall have to get there just as we please, and meet in the room; but I don’t know how all the proper escorts are to be arranged.  I was thinking, Nina, I could take you and Miss Girond down, if you will let me.”