while who might call such a man her master. Had they but known it, she stood over there by the door in the gold and scarlet costume of a lady gymnast—a nobody to be the wife of such a man! Now she did not even look as the lion-tamer strode amongst his animals—a figure that a sculptor might copy for a god. All the women's eyes in the theatre followed him except hers; hers were downcast and turned away.
"Nora," a voice said low in her ear, "he has beaten you again?"
Her eyes flashed as she turned them upon the speaker, then fell; a deep flush spread over her neck and face.
"He has never beaten me," she said coldly; "how dare you say so!"
"He has beaten you," the voice said, "as he will beat you again, and yet again."
"He has not beaten me." She spoke angrily, stamping her foot, her fierce gaze even yet not meeting the eyes of her questioner.
"Why are you wearing that silk scarf around your neck? It is not customary—not becoming."
"Because I have a cold. Is it not enough?"
