The chorus was upon the stage; sweeping his glasses from end to end of the line of girls upon the boards, his eyes suddenly lighted upon the second girl on the left. She was not beautiful. She had a pretty figure, and a most expressive face; but her features were irregular and her mouth was large. Far more lovely girls stood in that row, many taller, with finely chiselled features and elegant figures, but only that girl—_Number II. on the Left_—caught and riveted his attention. He looked and looked again. What charm did she possess, he wondered, which seemed to draw him towards her? She was singing, and making little curtsies like the others in time to the music: she was waving her arms with those automatic gesticulations the chorus learn; she was smiling, and yet behind it all he seemed to see an unutterable sadness in the depths of her dark grey eyes. The girl fascinated him; he listened not to the music of _Penso_, he hardly looked at any one else; so long as _Number II. on the Left_ remained upon the stage his entire thoughts were with her. She enchained, she almost seemed to hypnotise him, and yet she seldom looked his way. During the _entr’acte_ Allan Murray went outside to try and discover the name of _Number II. on the Left_. No one, however, was able to tell him, or if they were, they would not.
Disappointed he returned to his seat in time for the second act. She had changed her dress, and the new one was perhaps less becoming than the first.
“She is not pretty,” he kept repeating to himself, “but she is young. She is neither a great singer nor a dancer, but she is a gentlewoman.”
So great was the fascination she had exerted over the man of the world, that he returned the next night to a seat in the stalls, and as he gazed upon the operetta he felt more than ever convinced that there was some great tragedy lying hidden behind the smiling face of _Number II. on the Left_. He desired to unravel it.
A short time before Christmas, being absolutely determined to find out who she was, he succeeded in worming the information from some one behind the scenes. Her real name was Sarah Hopper—could anything be more hideous?—her professional one Alwyn FitzClare—could anything be more euphonious? He went off to his club after one of the performances was over, and wrote her a note. Days went by and he received no answer. Then he purchased some beautiful flowers and sent them to the stage door for Miss Alwyn FitzClare with his compliments. Still no answer; but in the meantime he had been back to the theatre, and had been even more struck than before with the appearance of the girl, and felt sorry for the look of distress he thought he saw lurking behind her smiles.