up at the immaculate
Mr. Van Dyke, above the only bunch of orchids in the theatre. He came to
chat with her during the interval between "La Czarina" and "Schneider's
Band." She was doubly guarded by her father on one side and her mother
on the other. It was a way they had. She introduced him demurely with an
adorable little wave of her black fan. He wondered if, should he quit
college right away, he could get a job which would enable him to support
a wife. He looked at the placid, olive-skinned mother, not yet old
enough to be very fat, and decided that he could; his glance wandered to
the angular, sharp-featured American father, and he was sure he
couldn't.

Van could not remember ever having seen such great, dark liquid eyes as
now melted into his. It seemed hard not to behold them again for a whole
week. Hard? It was impossible. It was dreadful to leave her for the
little time while the mandolin club was on the stage. On his way up the
aisle his freshman brain was seized and overmastered by a brilliant
idea; he almost stopped to pat himself on the shoulder.

Going into one of the dressing rooms, he sank dejectedly on a chair and
pressed his hand to his forehead. Perkins, gathering in his musicians
for the next piece, found him there.

"Come along, Freshie."

The first mandolin rose slowly.

"What's the matter?" asked the leader.

"Oh, nothing," said the other, "I'll be all right."

After the piece he went back to the dressing-room.

"Encore!" cried Perkins, rushing in.

"I can't help it," said Van, in a contracted tone, "I can't go on."

"Why not?" demanded Perkins.

"I'm in awful pain, Ted," pleaded Van. "Something I've eaten, I guess. I
can hardly stand up straight."

"Oh, rats!" answered Perkins sympathetically, and tore out again.

Van took his coat and mandolin and disappeared. Between numbers he came
in and slipped down the aisle to the Paysons' seats.

"Will you excuse me, Miss Payson? I can't go home with you after the
concert. I'm awfully sorry, but I feel pretty sick and I'm going back to
the hotel now."

"Oh, what is it?" Dolores asked, and her mother leaned forward with
polite interest.

Van smiled weakly.

"Nothing serious, probably," he said. "Don't worry, please. I won't say
good-bye," he added, taking Dolores' hand, "because if I _have_ to stay
over to-morrow I shall try to see you in the morning."

"Oh, I hope you'll be better, and I shall look for you."

Then Mason came out