I'm not satisfied,” murmured Jim.
“Would you like to be wrapped in swaddling bands and laid at the breast?” asked Lilly, disagreeably.
Jim opened his mouth in a grin, and gazed long and malevolently at his questioner.
“Yes,” he said. Then he sprawled his long six foot of limb and body across the box again.
“You should try loving somebody, for a change,” said Tanny. “You've been loved too often. Why not try and love somebody?”
Jim eyed her narrowly.
“I couldn't love YOU,” he said, in vicious tones.
“A la bonne heure!” said Tanny.
But Jim sank his chin on his chest, and repeated obstinately:
“I want to be loved.”
“How many times have you been loved?” Robert asked him. “It would be rather interesting to know.”
Jim looked at Robert long and slow, but did not answer.
“Did you ever keep count?” Tanny persisted.
Jim looked up at her, malevolent.
“I believe I did,” he replied.
“Forty is the age when a man should begin to reckon up,” said Lilly.
Jim suddenly sprang to his feet, and brandished his fists.
“I'll pitch the lot of you over the bloody rail,” he said.
He glared at them, from under his bald, wrinkled forehead. Josephine glanced round. She had become a dusky white colour. She was afraid of him, and she disliked him intensely nowadays.
“Do you recognise anyone in the orchestra?” she asked.
The party in the box had become dead silent. They looked down. The conductor was at his stand. The music began. They all remained silent and motionless during the next scene, each thinking his own thoughts. Jim was uncomfortable. He wanted to make good. He sat with his elbows on his knees, grinning slightly, looking down. At the next interval he stood up suddenly.
“It IS the chap—What?” he exclaimed excitedly, looking round at his friends.
“Who?” said Tanny.
“It IS he?” said Josephine quietly, meeting Jim's eye.
“Sure!” he barked.
He was leaning forward over the ledge, rattling a programme in his hand, as if trying to attract attention. Then he made signals.
“There you are!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “That's the chap.”
“Who? Who?” they cried.
But neither Jim nor Josephine would vouchsafe an answer.
The next was the long interval. Jim and Josephine gazed down at the orchestra. The musicians were laying aside their instruments and rising. The ugly fire-curtain began slowly to descend. Jim suddenly bolted out.
“Is it that man Aaron Sisson?” asked Robert.
“Where? Where?” cried Julia. “It can't be.”
But Josephine's face was closed and silent. She did not answer.
The whole party moved out on to the crimson-carpeted gangway. Groups of people stood about chatting, men and women were passing along, to pay visits or to find drinks. Josephine's party stared around, talking desultorily. And at length they perceived Jim stalking along, leading Aaron Sisson by the arm. Jim was grinning, the flautist looked unwilling. He had a comely appearance, in his white shirt—a certain comely blondness and repose. And as much a gentleman as anybody.
“Well!” cried Josephine to him. “How do you come here?”
“I play the flute,” he answered, as he shook hands.
The little crowd stood in the gangway and talked.
“How wonderful of you to be here!” cried Julia.
He laughed.
“Do you think so?” he answered.
“Yes, I do.—It seems so FAR from Shottle House and Christmas Eve.—Oh, wasn't it exciting!” cried Julia.
Aaron looked at her, but did not answer.
“We've heard all about you,” said Tanny playfully.
“Oh, yes,” he replied.
“Come!” said Josephine, rather irritated. “We crowd up the gangway.” And she led the way inside the box.
Aaron stood and looked down at the dishevelled theatre.
“You get all the view,” he said.
“We do, don't we!” cried Julia.
“More than's good for us,” said Lilly.
“Tell us what you are doing. You've got a permanent job?” asked Josephine.
“Yes—at present.”
“Ah! It's more interesting for you than at Beldover.”
She had taken her seat. He looked down at her dusky young face. Her voice was always clear and measured.
“It's a change,” he said, smiling.
“Oh, it must be more than that,” she said. “Why, you must feel a whole difference. It's a whole new life.”
He smiled, as if he were laughing at her silently. She flushed.
“But isn't it?” she persisted.
“Yes. It can be,” he replied.
He looked as if he were quietly amused, but dissociated. None of the people in the box were quite real to him. He was not really amused. Julia found him dull, stupid. Tanny also was offended that he could not perceive her. The men remained practically silent.
“You're a chap I always hoped would turn up again,” said Jim.
“Oh, yes!” replied Aaron, smiling as if amused.
“But perhaps he doesn't like us! Perhaps he's not glad that we turned up,” said Julia, leaving her sting.
The flautist turned and looked at her.
“You can't REMEMBER us, can you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I can remember you.”
“Oh,”
