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'Don't mention those times!' muttered Uffington, shrinking as though he had been struck. Then, as though to change the conversation, he said: 'There is a pretty woman--very pretty and distinguée-looking too--in the fourth box from the stage; who is she?'

'That,' said Tom Lydyeard, after looking through his glass, 'is Lady Forestfield; she is a daughter of Lord Stortford's, and married Forestfield about two years ago.'

'I recollect Lady Stortford,' said Uffington; 'she was our contemporary, a very sweet woman. Is she alive?'

'No; she died last year,' said Tom Lydyeard. Then added under his breath, 'Thank God!'

Uffington heard the words and looked sharply round, but Tom Lydyeard's eyes were hidden by his glass, and his uplifted hands covered that tell-tale of any emotion--the mouth.

Nugent Uffington then made a long inspection of the box, and at its conclusion said, I can now recognise many traces of her mother in Lady Forestfield. She is the same [Greek: Boôpis `'Eze], and seems to have the same splendid hair. What is her husband like?'