the stalls; but now at last she was on a line with them, among them, she was part of the sacred semicir

ng of the faculties that comes in the high moments of life. Her consciousness seemed to take in at once the whole bright curve of the auditorium, from the unbroken lines of spectators below her

c, the scenery, and the movement on the stage, were like a rich mist tempering the radiance that shot on her from every side, and g

shoulders, late comers dropping their furs and laces in the red penumbra of the background. Undine, for the moment unconscious of herself, swept the house with her opera-glass, searching for familiar faces. Some she knew without being able to name them--fi

consult the list. Mondays and Fridays, Mrs. Peter Van Degen. That was it: the box was empty because Mrs. Van Degen was dining alone with Ralph Marvell! "PETER WILL BE AT ONE OF HIS DINNERS." Undine had a sharp vision of the Van Degen dining-room--she pictured it as oak-carved and sumptuous with gilding --with a small table in the centre, and rosy lights and flowers, and Ralph Marvell, across t

ver really count among these happy self-absorbed people! They all had their friends, their ties, their deligh

ty was horribly immoral and that she could never really be happy in such a poisoned atmosphere. She remembered that an eminent d

a feint of speaking to Mrs. Lipscomb, and met the bulging stare of Peter Van Degen. He was standing behind the lady of the eye-glass, who

he girl reddened, divining herself unid

n conscious that he was trying to provoke in her some reciprocal sign of re

laimed Mabel Lipscomb, making large signs

s increased the effect of disproportion. No one else was wagging and waving in that way: a gestureless mute telegraphy seemed to pass between the other boxes. Still, Undine could not h

acte wore on, and no one turned the handle of their door, or disturbed the peaceful somnolence of Harry Lipscomb, who, not being (as he put it) "onto" grand opera, had abandoned the struggle and withdrawn to the seclusion of

n Degen appeared in the opposite box with Ralph Marvell behind her. The two seemed to be alone in the box--as they had doubtless been alone all the evening!--and Un

t you see Mr. Marvell over there

like that," Undine whi

you want him to

ther people are

und each other. Shall I send Harry over to tell him?"

Undine as the

nces possessed her imagination: that of Ralph Marvell, small, unattainabl

nd diaphanous, Mabel strident and explicit while they were subdued and allusive. At the Stentorian she was the centre of her group--here she revealed herself as unknown and unknowing. Why, she didn't even know that Mrs. Peter Van Degen was not Ralph Marvell's si

and pass out. Half-unconsciously she placed herself in such a way as to have an eye on the door of the box. But its handle remained unturned, and Harry Lipscomb, leaning b

ham Popple; and above his shoulder shone the batrachian countenance of Peter Van Degen. A brief murmur from Mr. Popple made his compan

her day at the Motor Show--no, where was it? Oh, those pictures at Goldmark's. What d'you think of 'em, by the way? You ought to be painted yourself--no, I mean it, you know--you ought to get old Popp to do you. He'd do yo

with no less a person than Mr. Peter Van Degen. Mr. Popple's talk was certainly more brilliant and purposeful, and she saw him cast longing glances at her from behind Mrs. Lipsco

n of a jolly little dinner some night soon, at the Cafe Martin, and strengthening her position, as she thought, by an easy allusion to h

opp, and Mrs.--, Mrs.--, what'd you say your fat friend's name was? Just a select little crowd of

the evening nearly over, and what had it led to? Looking up from the stalls, she had fancied that to sit in a box was to be in society--now she saw it might but emphasize one's exclusion. And she was burdened with the box for the rest of th

ut this and come back for you when the show busts up." They heard him shuffle

l, lost in the study of the audience, had not noticed her movement, and as she

slimness of her figure and the fresh curve of the throat below her bent-back head. Her face was paler and

not going?"

ren't coming," sh

n purpose to dodge y

pleasure. "Oh, we

a, against the hanging cloaks. As Undine leaned back her hair caught in the spangles of the wrap behind her, and she had to si

ine noticed the delicacy and finish of her companion's features as his head detached itself against the red silk walls. The hand with which he stroked his small moustache was finely-finished too, but sinewy and not effeminate. She had always associated finish and r

been doing since he had last seen her, she was aware that he looked at her less than usual

raceful allusion--but the instinct of sex told her that, under his quiet words, he was throbbing with the sense of her proximity. And his self-restraint sobered her, made her refrain from the flashing and fidgeting which were the only w

the way I expected New York people to be." She risked what seemed an involuntary glance at Mabel. "I've seen girls here to-night that I just LONG to know--they look so lovely and refined--but I don't suppose I ever shall. New York's not very friendly to st

if he might hope to find

pulled me out of Mrs. Monty Thurber's box and dragged me 'round by the collar to introduce him. Planning a dinner at Martin's already. Gad, young Peter must have what he wants WHEN he wants it! I put in a word for you--told him you and I ought to be let in on the ground floor. Funny the luck some girls have about getting started. I believe this one'll take if she c

lub, and he drew a long breath of

ysical touch. And the worst of it was that Popple, with the slight exaggeration of a caricature, really expressed the ideals of the world he frequented. As he spoke of Miss Spragg, s

at the symmetrical old red house-front, with its frugal marble

me ways they're right," he murmur

by widely-different architectural physiognomies at the other end of Fifth Avenue. As Ralph pushed the bolts behind him, and passed into the hall, with its dark mahogany doors and the quiet "Dutch interior" effect of its black and white marble paving, he said to himself that what Popple called society was really just like the houses it lived in: a muddle of misapplied ornament over a t

her and grandfather the Aborigines, and likened them to those vanishing denizens of the American continent doomed to rapid extinction with the advance of the invading race. He was fond of describing W

os of indiscriminate appetites which made up its modern tendencies. He too had wanted to be "modern," had revolted, half-humorously, against the restrictions and exclusions of the old code;