Then she beckoned to him. He rose from his chair and came to her side.
"In the interval after the next act," she whispered, "look through
the glasses at the third row in the pit. Not now--not now! It might
be noticed now."
"Who is it?" he asked.
"I don't know--I'm not certain."
The lights in the theatre were put out just as he was about to turn
his head in the direction. He went back to his seat and in five minutes
had forgotten about it.
When that act was over and the lights revived again, Mrs.
Durlacher handed him the glasses. He came to the edge of the box.
Coralie followed him, looking down on the rows of heads below her.
"Look round the house first," Mrs. Durlacher whispered.
He swept the glasses right and left, about the theatre in an
indiscriminate manner--seeing nothing. Then he turned them in the
direction his sister had indicated. From one face to another he
passed along the third row of the pit, seeing only clerks and their
young girls, shop-keepers and their wives. At last he stopped. There
was a girl sitting by herself. Her head was down, her face hidden;
but he recognized her. Then she looked up quickly--straight to the
box--turned direct to his glasses a pair of dark eyes that were
burning, cheeks that were pale, almost unhealthy in the pallor, and
white lips, half-parted to the breaths he could almost hear her
talking.
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