But Miss Burgoyne, while transforming herself into Grace Mainwaring, had plenty of time to think over this startling position of affairs, and to consider how she could best use it to her own advantage.  She had a nimble brain; and it may have occurred to her that here was a notable chance for her to display the splendid magnanimity of her disposition—­to overwhelm Mr. Lionel Moore with her forgiveness and her generous intervention on his behalf.  At all events, in the first scene in which these two met on the stage, Harry Thornhill became instantly aware that the merry and mischievous Grace Mainwaring appeared bent on being very friendly towards him—­even while she looked curiously at him, as if there were something in her mind.  Moreover, she seemed in excellent spirits; there was no perfunctory “drag” in her give-and-take speeches with the adventurous young gentleman whom fate had thrown in her way.  He was very well pleased to find the scene going so well; he sang his share in the parting duet with unusual verve; she responded with equal animation; the crowded house gave them an enthusiastic recall.  But the public could not tell that, even in the midst of this artistic triumph, the audacious young lover had his own thoughts in his head; and that he was really saying to himself, “What the mischief is she at now?”

He was to learn later on in the evening.  Just as he got dressed for the ball-room scene, a message was brought him that Miss Burgoyne would like to see him for a minute or two as soon as he was ready.  Forthwith he went to her room, tapped at her door, entered, and found himself the sole occupant; but the next moment the curtain concealing the dressing-room was opened about five feet from the ground; and there (the rest of her person being concealed) he beheld the smiling face of Grace Mainwaring, with its sparkling eyes and rouge and patches, to say nothing of the magnificent white wig with its nodding sprays of brilliants.

“Just a moment, Mr. Moore,” said she, “and I shall be with you directly”—­and therewith the vision was gone, and the crimson curtains came together again.

Very shortly thereafter the Squire’s Daughter came forth in all the splendor of her white satin and pearls; and she lost no time in letting him know why he had been summoned.

“You are a very bloodthirsty man,” said she, in accents of grave reproach (though her eyes were not so serious), “and I am ashamed of you that you should think of harming that poor boy; but I am not going to allow it—­”

“Why, who told you anything about it?” he said; for he could not pretend not to know what she meant.