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ROM the moment she left the carriage until she found herself listlessly surveying the crowd from the Trentons' opera box, the evening had offered nothing surprising to Camilla. There was an agreeable recollection that she had been through it all, and she was vaguely interested in recalling how many times, but presently gave up the task as unimportant. There was the little stretch of Broadway before the architecturally deplorable temple of melody, where the imported songsters received the homage due to an ever-ascendant Art; there was the outer rhythm of smooth-running wheels, with just the possibility of irritation in the stamping of steeds; the exhilarating crush at the entrances; the friendly babble of indiscriminate and fragmentary greetings, and the rustle of the throng down the various aisles into the boxes and stalls. Once the inner sanctuary was reached, there was a sense of gorgeousness and satisfaction in the mise en scène—a sense of the spectacular in the battle of brocades and furs and laces, and the inevitable showing of shoulders, with the gleam of jewels. These things never lost their interest for Camilla, who appreciated well enough that she was a part of them; but they had ceased to astonish her, even if there was ever a time when she entertained astonishment. Nor did the customary tardiness of some of her neighbors disconcert her, for she had a very good idea of who these neighbors would be, and that they would appear in evidence with the fall of the curtain on the first act.

The Trentons were inclined to be vulgarly prompt, and to-night had actually arrived for the initial scene, so that Camilla's attention was for a time distracted from the actual performance in the auditorium to the mimic representation on the stage. Thus engaged, she was not aware of the quiet entrance of young Ferdinand Acton and his bestowal in the vacant chair just behind her; and not until the lights flamed up, amidst a burst of noisy acclaim, ending in the recall of the singers, did she look about and make the discovery. This, it appeared, was the propitious interval young Mr. Acton had been awaiting for some melodious minutes, and he gave a rapid and anxious glance at Mr. and Mrs. Trenton to assure himself that they were engrossed temporarily and that only Camilla could hear what he had to say. In the most deliberate manner in the world Ferdinand pulled his chair forward a little and whispered ten words in a strained voice. Having uttered them, he looked eagerly at Camilla's left cheek. She turned, gave him a doubtful glance, and then laughed.

"Now, Ferdie, whatever do you mean by that? I declare, you're blushing. Are you sincere?"

Young Mr. Acton twisted his hands nervously and appeared to be deserted of his suddenly acquired courage.

"Awfully, Camilla; I've been waiting to say it for a month. Ever since"

"Ever since you were abandoned by the chanson charmer from abroad? Honestly, Ferdie, you haven't paid