Braintop had recourse to his pocket-mirror once more.
It afforded him a rapid interchange of glances with a face which he at all events could distinguish from the mass, though we need not.
The youth was in the act of conveying the instrument to its retreat, when conscience sent his eyes toward Emilia, who, to his horror, beckoned to him, and touched Mr.Pole, entreating him to do the same.
Mr.Pole gesticulated imperiously, whereat Braintop rose, and requested his neighbour to keep his seat for ten minutes, as he was going into that particular box; and "If I don't come back in ten minutes, I shall stop there," said Braintop, a little grandly, through the confusion of his ideas, as he guessed at the possible reasons for the summons.
Emilia had seen her father in the orchestra.

There he sat, under the leader, sullenly fiddling the prelude to the second play, like a man ashamed, and one of the beaten in this world.

Flight had been her first thought.

She had cause to dread him.

The more she lived and the dawning knowledge of what it is to be a woman in the world grew with her, the more she shrank from his guidance, and from reliance on him.