"Sit up straight, Madeline. And can you not at least attempt to look as if you're enjoying the play?"

"Yes, Mama." Madeline Langley straightened her back. "The actors are very good, and the play is indeed interesting. It's just Lord Farquharson—" She dropped her voice to an even lower whisper. "He keeps leaning too close and—"

"The noise in here is fit to raise the roof. It's little wonder that Lord Farquharson is having trouble hearing what you have to say," said Mrs Langley.

"But, Mama, it is not his hearing that is at fault." Madeline looked at her mama. "He makes me feel uncomfortable."

Mrs Langley wrinkled her nose. "Do not be so tiresome, child. Lord Farquharson is expressing an interest in you and we must encourage him as best we can. He will never offer for you if you keep casting him such black looks. Look at Angelina—can you not try to be a little more like her? No scowls mar her face." Mrs Langley bestowed upon her younger, and by far prettier, daughter, a radiant smile.

Angelina threw her sister a long-suffering expression. "That is because Angelina does not have to sit beside Lord Farquharson," muttered Madeline beneath her breath.

Angelina gave a giggle.

Fortunately Mrs Langley did not hear Madeline's comment. "Shh, girls, he's coming back,'she whispered excitedly. Amelia Langley straightened and smiled most encouragingly at the gentleman who was entering the theatre box with a tray containing three drinks glasses balanced between his hands.

"Oh, Lord Farquharson, how very kind you are to think of my girls." She fluttered her eyelashes unbecomingly.

"And of you too, of course, my dear Mrs Langle