"I wish we might have brought Brutus," she said. "But I suppose you were right. He would draw attention to us, and Henry and old toothpowder might recognize him if we get close."

"Now, Pen, let's go over again how we are to do this," her brother said.

"I still don't think it fair that you get to do the exciting part," Penelope complained.

"Ah, but you have the most difficult part," Philip replied diplomatically. "You have to do some acting."

They trudged along, going over once more their campaign plan, which had been formulated in many secret meetings over the previous few days.

When they reached the opera house, they stood across the road watching for a while, standing in the shadows of a doorway. Somehow their plan seemed more flimsy now that they could see the actual building and the activity going on before the doorway. There were two doormen on duty, both guarding the entrance against unauthorized persons and helping to open carriage doors and pull down carriage steps. And vehicles drew up with fair frequency.

"You see that pillar to the left of the entry?" Philip asked. "When you see me safely behind that, you wait for the next carriage to come and do your part. All right?"

"All right," she said, but she grabbed his shirt sleeve as he made to leave the doorway. "Phil, be careful," she added.

"Aw, don't start acting like a girl," he replied scornfully. "Just make sure that you wait for me at the corner of the street where we planned."

A few minutes later, Penelope could see that he was safely tucked behind the pillar. And she could see a carriage approaching down the street. With a deep breath and a thumping heart, she sauntered across the road. The doorman who had stepped forward to greet the approaching vehicle made shooing gestures with his hands. The other stayed where he was, hands clasped behind his back.

Penelope waited quietly until a dandified gentleman and a lady displaying an ample amount of bosom had descended from the carriage, and then stepped forward, palms cupped together.

"Spare us a penny, guv'nor," she whined, sidling up to the dandy. "Me mum's sick an' I ain't had nuthin' to eat in two days."

'Ere, 'ere," the closest doorman said, "be off with you, little tramp, and leave the quality be."

The lady gathered her skirts around her to avoid the contaminating touch of the beggar, and prepared to move around Penelope. The dandy completely ignored her.

"Just an 'apenny, then, lady," she said shrilly, stepping across the path of the female. "The baby's starvin and there ain't a crust o' bread in the 'ouse." She sniffed loudly and cuffed her nose noisily.

" 'Ere, I'll get the watch after you," the doorman growled, grabbing Penelope by the collar of her shirt and dragging her backward. The couple who had just alighted attempted again to go around her. In the meantime, another carriage had- drawn up and the other doorman had helped two couples down onto the pavement.

Penelope tore herself away from her captor and flung herself screaming to the ground. "Me pa's dead," she shrieked, "an' me mum's dyin'. The young uns is starvin' an' only me to provide for 'em. Have pity, ladies and gents. Have pity."

Everyone's attention was riveted to the ragged little figure rolling its eyes and drumming its heels on the pavement.

" 'Ere, Jake," said the first doorman, 'elp me clear the beggar away from the entrance."

Jake came forward obligingly, a menacingly burly figure as viewed from Penelope's vantage point on the pavement.

"Poor little soul," said a lady's voice, and Penelope looked up into the heavily painted but kindly face of an overweight lady from the second carriage. "Give him some coins, George. And please let him go in peace," she instructed the disappointed doormen.

Both George and the footmen obeyed, and within moments Penelope was slinking off down the street, a shilling clasped in one hand, while the street behind her was returning to normality. She noticed as she passed the pillar that Philip was no longer behind it.

Philip had taken advantage of the commotion that his sister had created in order to slip through the doorway into the opera house. The ruse had worked even better than he had hoped. But now came the hard part. How was a scruffy urchin to be able to roam around this grand old building, which teemed with richly dressed men and women, without attracting suspicion? He ducked into a dark corner, removed his hat, and took from inside it a cloth apron such as the kitchen boy wore and a white cloth. The apron he tied quickly around his waist; the cloth he clutched in his hand. He smoothed his hair as best he could without either comb or mirror, abandoned the cap, and walked purposefully along the narrow corridor that circled around the auditorium behind the ground-level boxes. He hoped that his air of open confidence would allay suspicion and convince anyone who might wonder that he had been sent about some clean-up job.

Philip's eyes darted sharply over every figure he passed and through every open doorway, in search of the sister he had come to protect. He came upon her finally, quite unexpectedly, in a shadowy doorway in the corridor. It was unmistakably she, even though she was enveloped in a green domino and wore a green mask. Her hood had fallen back and those short, unruly auburn curls could belong to no one but Henry. She was clasped in the close embrace of a black domino and was being very masterfully kissed. But her clenched fists were between her own ribs and his, Philip noticed as he stood still and gaped in shock for a moment.

Chapter 9

The Duke of Eversleigh threw his cards into the center of the table, his face impassive, though he had won a considerable amount of money in the first two games of the evening.

Lord Horton threw in his cards, too. "I should know from experience never to play against you, Marius," sighed. "You're always a lucky devil!"

"We miss you at the club, Eversleigh," Rufus Smythe commented. "Tell us, do you still believe you were wise to choose a bride so carelessly?"

Eversleigh raised his quizzing glass and eyed his questioner slowly, his face still expressionless. "Ah, but I never: do anything without care," he answered.

Sir Wilfred Denning smoothed the lace of his cuffs over his well-manicured hands and shuddered delicately. "You'll certainly chose fast enough, Eversleigh. I am still smarting at the loss of my grays. I see you have given them to her, Grace. A nicely ironic touch, that!"

"Indeed you have brought the duchess into fashion, Marius," Horton commented. "She is all the rage, I understand."

"Henry is one of a kind," Eversleigh answered enigmatically.

Rufus Smythe laughed. "I see that even your cousin has taken a fancy to her," he said.

Eversleigh toyed with his quizzing glass again, but did not lift it to his eye.

"I lunched with him at Watier's today," Smythe continued. "It must be pleasant, Eversleigh, to have a relative willing to relieve one of the tedium of accompanying one's wife to all the social functions."

Eversleigh's hand, clasped around the quizzing glass, stilled. The half-closed eyelids hid eyes which had sharpened. "To which event in particular are you referring, Smythe?" he asked with a languidness that was at odds with his alert eyes.

"Oh, he was taking her to something or other tonight, was he not?" said Smythe, gathering the cards together and proceeding to shuffle them.

"Ah, tonight, yes," said Eversleigh, and prepared to play the hand that was dealt him.

At the end of the game, which he again won, Eversleigh rose to his feet in leisurely fashion and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his coat sleeve. He turned to his host. "This has been pleasant, my dear fellow," he said, "but I have another engagement for tonight that I cannot avoid.

"Marius!" said Horton, also rising to his feet. "The night has scarcely begun. I thought we were to have a fair chance tonight of stripping you of your fortune."

"Ha! See what marriage has done to him?" Denning mocked with his haughty drawl. "He does not even have the stamina to sit up with his friends to play cards."

"Perhaps he has better things to do," said Rufus Smythe, leering.

"I am delighted to have left you with a topic on which to speculate for the next hour, my dear fellows," Eversleigh said, seeming quite unperturbed by the good-natured teasing.

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A half-hour later, the Duke of Eversleigh was announced in the music room of Mrs. August Welby's home. That lady was all aflutter. Having a real live duke present at her musical evening, especially such a distinguished one as Eversleigh, was beyond her wildest dreams. Finally she would be a success, counted among the foremost of society's hostesses.

The guests were partaking of tea and pastries when he arrived, the first part of the program having been completed. The Italian soprano was billed for the second half of the evening. Eversleigh accepted a cup, remained on his feet, and languidly surveyed the gathering.

"Marius," a familar voice said at his elbow, "one does not expect to find you at such events. Have you suddenly acquired culture?"

"Like catching a cold?" Eversleigh returned, turning his lazy, half-closed eyes on Suzanne Broughton.

"That does not answer the question," she said archly, slapping him on the wrist with her fan. "Is Signora Ratelli the attraction? Rumor has it that she is looking for a new protector.

"Hmm," he replied, "I believe I should find it a little disconcerting to share a bed with a partner who has to practice scales. "