She was a woman; there were men who knew her; some of them inferior to him in position, and, he flattered himself, in mind.
He had even heard a tale against her character.

To him her face was its confutation, and he knew how loose-tongued is calumny; but still--! At last, one day he sent her a letter, unsigned.

This letter expressed his admiration of her talent in warm but respectful terms; the writer told her it had become necessary to his heart to return her in some way his thanks for the land of enchantment to which she had introduced him.
Soon after this, choice flowers found their way to her dressing-room every night, and now and then verses and precious stones mingled with her roses and eglantine.

And oh, how he watched the great actress's eye all the night; how he tried to discover whether she looked oftener toward his box than the corresponding box on the other side of the house.

Did she notice him, or did she not?
What a point gained, if she was conscious of his nightly attendance.