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“If she only knew!” he said to himself.

They drove in the Bois in the afternoon and after dinner went to the opera. Nancy was dressed for the opera in one of her new costumes; it was white, shaded off to the faintest tinge of rose. She looked something like a summer cloud when she was dressed in these billows of diaphanous texture; the pearls round her neck gave the last touch to the dazzling effect.

“You look like the heart of a sea-shell,” said her husband; “there, let me look at you from this distance; yes, the effect is perfect. Now again, favour me by standing so. Now you resemble a sunset cloud; you are all poetry, you are a dream. In fact you are a living, walking poem.”

“Don’t, Adrian,” she said.

“Why do you say ‘don’t’? it is my delight to see how much can be made of unique beauty like yours. To-morrow night you shall be dressed quite differently; to-morrow night that pale sweet face, those dark deep eyes shall gleam in more sombre surroundings, and then my princess will look like a star. Give me my delight, Nancy; don’t refuse it to me.”