w that whatever qualifications she
possessed for this pleasing position could hardly have made themselves
evident to Mr. Hazzard during their very brief acquaintance, and she was
not a shade more sincere than he as she answered coquettishly:

"Yes, that's what they all say! And then they--" She stopped.

"And then they--what?" breathed Carter, playing with the loose ribbons
of her feather boa.

"Then they fall in love with me!" pouted the girl, raising round eyes.

Carter was intoxicated at this confession, and laughed out loud.

"But you're too young to play at falling in love!" he warned her. "How
old are you--seventeen? And you haven't told me your name yet?"

"You know my name is Miss Page," smiled Julia.

"And do you think I'm going to call you that?" Carter reproached her.

"It might be Jane," she suggested.

"Yes, but it isn't, you little devil!" Suddenly the man caught both her
wrists, and Julia got on her feet, and instinctively flung back her
head. "You're going to kiss me for that!" he said, half laughing, half
vexed.

"Oh, no, I'm not!" A sudden twist of her body failed to free her, and
the plume on her hat brushed his cheek.

"Oh, yes, you are!" He caught both wrists in one of his strong hands,
and put his arm about her shoulders like a vise, turning her face toward
him at the same time. Julia, furious with the nervous fear that this
scuffling would be overheard, and that Carter would make her ridiculous,
glared at him, and they remained staring fixedly at each other for a few
moments.

"You _dare_!" she whispered then, held so tightly that Carter could hear
her heart beat, "and I'll scream loud enough to bring every one in the
place!"

"All right--you little cat!" he laughed, freeing her suddenly. Julia
tossed her head and walked off without speaking, but presently an
oblique swift glance at him showed his expression to be all penitent and
beseeching; their eyes met, and they both laughed. Still laughing, they
came upon Artheris and Connie, and all walked out together on the
deserted stage.

The great empty arch was but dimly lighted, draughty, odorous, and
gloomy. Beyond the extinguished footlights they could see the curved
enormous cavern of the house, row upon row of empty seats. In the
orchestra box two or three men, one in his coat sleeves, were disputing
over an opera score. High up in the topmost gallery some one was
experimenting with the calcium machine; a fan of light occasionall