"No. She has accepted me, this time," was the blunt reply.
Beatrice stared straight in front of her for a moment, and there was a suggestion of gathering pallor in her face. Then, she drew backward, away from her companion, and her blue eyes widened. If there was a shock to her in the knowledge she had just received, she accepted it with a very clever little laugh which she always had ready at hand.
"So," she said, "that is what makes you so glum, is it? Really, you are a most amazing person. I had supposed that when Patricia accepted you, finally, and set the day--"
"The day hasn't been set. It may be a week, a month, or a year hence, for all I know." This was said harshly, and while Duncan's eyes were fixed steadily upon Mary Garden, on the stage.
"How intensely interesting!" Beatrice exclaimed, under her breath. "I shall insist upon your taking us to supper after the opera, and telling me all about it."
The loud bars of music which announce the finale of an act and the entrance of the chorus precluded the possibility of further conversation just then; and as soon as the curtain was down and the applause had ceased, Stephen Langdon left his chair and reached for his coat and hat. Then, he addressed the two young people who were his companions in the box.
"If you two youngsters care to see this out, I'll leave you here, together," he said. "I have just remembered something I should have attended to, to-night. I must see Melvin, my lawyer. You won't mind, Beatrice, will you, if I leave you in Roderick's care? Possibly, I'll return before the show is out."
Before either of them could answer, Langdon had passed out into the aisle, and hurried away, leaving Duncan and Miss Brunswick alone together in the box. If Roderick Duncan had really desired an opportunity to confide his troubles to Beatrice, it was afforded him then; but now that it was at hand, he felt suddenly uncertain about the wisdom of such a proceeding.