pretty silver-gilt ornamentation; he had been interested in the old-fashioned custom; and he had lightly imagined that Nina would be pleased—­that was all.  And now that he thought of it, he had to confess that he had been indiscreet.  It is true he had given Nina those presents from time to time in a careless and haphazard fashion that ought not to have been misunderstood—­only, as he had to remind himself, Nina must have perceived that he did not give similar presents to Miss Burgoyne, or Estelle Girond, or anybody else in the theatre.  And was Nina now thinking that he had treated her badly?—­Nina, who had been always his sympathizing friend, his gentle adviser, and kind companion.  Was there any one in the world that he less wished to harm?  He supposed she must have been angry when she returned these jewels and gew-gaws; clearly she was too proud to send him any other message.  And now she would be away somewhere, where he could not get hold of her to pet her into a reconciliation again; no doubt there was some hurt feeling of injury in her heart—­perhaps she was even crying.

“Poor Nina!” he said to himself, little dreaming of the true state of affairs.  “I hope it isn’t so? but if it is so, here have I, through mere thoughtlessness, wounded her pride, and, what is more, interfered with her professional career.  I suppose she’ll go right away back to old Pandiani; and they’ll be precious glad to get her now at Malta, after her success in England.  Perhaps some day we shall hear of her coming over here again, as a famous star in grand opera; that will be her revenge.  But I never thought Nina would want to be revenged on me.”

And yet he was uneasy; there was something in all this he did not understand.  He began to long for the coming of the next day, that he might go away down to Sloane Street and hear what Miss Girond had to tell him.  Why, for example, he asked himself, had Nina taken this step so abruptly—­so entirely without warning?  How and when had she made the discovery that she had mistaken the intention of those friendly little acts of kindness and his constant association with her?  Then he tried to remember on what terms he had last parted from her.  It was at the theatre, as he patiently summoned up each circumstance.  It was at the theatre, on the preceding night.  She had come to him in the wings, observing that he looked rather vexed, and she had given him comforting and cheerful words, as was her wont.  Surely there was no anger in her mind against him then.  But thereafter?  Well, he had seen no more of Nina.  When Miss Cunyngham had come behind the scenes, he had forgotten all about Nina.  And then suddenly he remembered that he must have been standing close by the prompter’s box, absorbed in talking to Miss Cunyngham, when Nina would have to come up to go on the stage.  Had she passed them?  Had she suspected?  Had she, in her proud and petted way, resented this intimacy, and resolved to throw back to him the harmless little