"You stare at them all alike," Littlemore went on, still without moving; "except indeed when I tell you that they are not respectable—then your attention acquires a fixedness!"
"If your judgment is against this lady, I promise never to look at her again. I mean the one in the third box from the passage, in white, with the red flowers," he added, as Littlemore slowly rose and stood beside him. "The young man is leaning forward. It is the young man that makes me doubt of her. Will you have the glass?"
Littlemore looked about him without concentration. "No, I thank you, my eyes are good enough. The young man 's a very good young man," he added in a moment.
"Very indeed; but he's several years younger than she. Wait till she turns her head."
She turned it very soon—she apparently had been speaking to the ouvreuse, at the door of the box—and presented her face to the public—a fair, well-drawn face, with smiling eyes, smiling lips, ornamented over the brow with delicate rings of black hair and, in each ear, with the sparkle of a diamond sufficiently large to be seen across the Théâtre Français. Littlemore looked at her; then, abruptly, he gave an exclamation. "Give me the glass!"
"Do you know her?" his companion asked, as he directed the little instrument.
Littlemore made no answer; he only looked in silence; then he handed back the glass. "No, she 's
