"It is hopeless--absolutely hopeless; she is cold as ice."

"What, with that voice and those eyes? Nonsense, man."

"She is cold as ice," groaned poor Tom; "everyone says so."

"Of course everyone says so; you ought to be glad of that, for this is the one point on which what everyone says must from the nature of things be false. Why, man, if she beamed on the whole world, then I might believe you."

From which it will be gathered that I had learned something from being in love.

So sad did I consider Tom's case, that I spoke to Claire about it when I saw her next.

"Claire," I said, "you have often heard me speak of Tom."

"Really, Jasper, you seldom speak of anybody else. In fact I am growing quite jealous of this friend."

After the diversion caused by this speech, I resumed--

"But really Tom is the best of fellows, and if I talk much of him it is because he is my only friend. You must see him, Claire, and you will be sure to like him. He is so clever!"

"What is the name of this genius--I mean the other name?"

"Why, Loveday, of course--Thomas Loveday. Do you mean to say I have never told you?"

"Never," said Claire, meditatively. "Loveday--Thomas Loveday--is it a common name?"

"No, I should think not very common. Don't you like it?"

"It--begins well."

Here followed another diversion.

"But what I was going to say about Tom," I continued, "is this--he has fallen in love; in fact, I have never seen a man so deeply in love."

"Oh!"

"Anyone else," I corrected, "for of course I was quite as bad; you understand that."

"We were talking of Thomas Loveday."

"Oh, yes, of Tom. Well, Tom, you know--or perhaps you do not.

At any rate, Tom has written a tragedy."

"All about love?"

"Well, not quite all; though there is a good deal in it, considering it was written when the author had no idea of what the pa.s.sion was like. But that is not the point. This tragedy is coming out at the Coliseum in November. Are you not well, Claire?"

"Yes, yes; go on. What has all this to do with Tom's love?"

"I am coming to that. Tom, of course, has been attending the rehearsals lately. He will not let me come until the piece is ready, for he is wonderfully nervous. I am to come and see it on the first night. Well, as I was saying, Tom has been going to rehearsals, and has fallen in love with--guess with whom."

Claire was certainly getting very white.

"Are you sure you are well, Claire?" I asked, anxiously.

"Oh, yes; quite sure. But tell me with whom--how should I guess?"

"Why, with the leading actress; one Clarissa Lambert, is it not?"

"Clarissa--Lambert!"

"Why, Claire, what is the matter? Are you faint?" For my love had turned deathly pale, and seemed as though she would faint indeed.

We were in the old spot so often revisited, though the leaves were yellowing fast, and the blackbird's note had long ceased utterly.

I placed my arm around her for support, but my darling unlocked it after a moment, struggled with her pallor, and said--

"No, no; I am better. It was a little faintness, but is pa.s.sing off.

Go on, and tell me about Mr. Loveday."

"I am afraid I bored you. But that is all. Do you know this Clarissa Lambert? Have you seen her?"

"Yes--I have seen her."

"I suppose she is very famous; at least, Tom says so. He also says she is divine; but I expect, from his description, that she is of the usual stamp of Tragedy Queen, tall and loud, with a big voice."

"Did he tell you that?"

"No, of course Tom raves about her. But there is no accounting for what a lover will say." This statement was made with all the sublime a.s.surance of an accepted man. "But you have seen her," I went on, "and can tell me how far his description is true. I suppose she is much the same as other actresses, is she not?"

"Jasper," said Claire, very gently, after a pause, "do you ever go to a theatre?"

"Very seldom; in fact, about twice only since I have been in London."

"I suppose you were taught as a boy to hate such things?"

"Well," I laughed, "I do not expect Uncle Loveday would have approved of Tom's choice, if that is what you mean. But that does not matter, I fear, as Tom swears that his case is hopeless. He worships from afar, and says that she is as cold as ice. In fact, he has never told his love, but lets concealment like a--"

"That is not what I meant. Do you--do you think all actors and actresses wicked?"

"Of course not. Why should I?"

"You are going to see--"

"'Francesca'? Oh, yes, on the opening night."

"Then possibly we shall meet. Will you look out for me?"

"Let me take you, Claire. Oh, I am glad indeed! You will see Tom there, and, I hope, be able to congratulate him on his triumph.

So let me take you."