well; to-morrow or the next day the end would come; so it did not
matter.

There was one bit of light in this labyrinth: Worth had spoken; that
disagreeable incident was closed. And this present dream, upon what reef
would it carry her? She shrugged. This action brought Hillard back to
earth, for he, too, had been dreaming. He raised his head.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Shrug."

"Did I shrug? I did so unconsciously. Perhaps I was thinking of O'Mally
and his flock of tourists."

"Doesn't it annoy you?"

"Not in the least. It has been a fine comedy. I believe he is the most
accomplished prevaricator I ever met. He remembers the lie of yesterday
and keeps adding to it. I don't see how he manages to do it. He is
better than Pietro. Pietro used to bring them into the house." She
gathered up a handful of the roses and pressed them against her face,
breathing deeply.

Hillard trembled. She was so beautiful; the glow of the roses on her
cheeks and throat, the sun in her hair, and the shadows in her eyes. To
smother the rush of words which were gathering at his lips, he raised
his cup and drank. Ten days! It was something. But the battle was
wearing; the ceaseless struggle not to speak from his full heart was
weakening him. Yet he knew that to speak was to banish the dream,
himself to be banished with it.

"If I were a poet, which I am not--" He paused irresolutely.

"You would extemporize on the beauty of the perspective," she
supplemented. "How the Duomo shines! And the towers, and the Arno--"

"I was thinking of your hair," he interrupted. "I have never seen
anything quite like it. It isn't a wig, is it?" jestingly.

"No, it is my own," with an answering smile.

"Ah, that night! It is true, as you said; it is impossible to forget the
charm of it."

She had recourse to the roses again. Dangerous ground.

"You have not told me the real reason why you sang under my window that
night."

"Have I not? Well, then, there can be no harm in telling you that. I had
just signed the contract to sing with the American Comic Opera Company
in Europe. I saw the world at my feet, for it would be false modesty to
deny that I have a voice. More disillusions! The world is _not_ at my
feet," lightly.

"But I am," he replied quietly.

She passed this declaration. "I might have more successfully applied to
the grand opera in New York; but my ambition was to sing here first."

"But in comic opera?"

"