ng songs will be heard; an
overture, one of his first works, and a new symphonic poem will comprise
this unusually interesting musical scheme. Mr. Vibert will have the
valuable assistance of Herr Anton Seidl and his famous orchestra."

"I will go to New York and hear that symphonic poem." She spoke in her
most aggressive manner.

"Well, why not?" replied Paul flippantly. "Only you will see a lot of
people you know, and would that be pleasant?"

"You needn't go to the concert, you can meet me afterward, and we'll go
home together."

Paul yawned, and went out for his afternoon stroll.... Ellenora passed
the intervening days in a flame of expectancy. She conjectured all sorts
of reasons for the concert. Why should Arthur give it so early in the
season? Where did he get the money for the orchestra? Perhaps that old,
stupid, busybody, portrait-painting friend of his had advanced it. But
when did he compose the symphonic poem? He had said absolutely nothing
about it to her; and she was surprised, irritated, a little proud that
he had finished something of symphonic proportions. She knew Arthur too
well to suppose that he would offer a metropolitan audience scamped
workmanship. Anyhow, she would go over even if she had to face an army
of questioning friends.

Vibert! How singularly that name looked now. It was a prettier, more
compact name than Goddard. But of course she wasn't Mrs. Goddard, she
was Mrs. Vibert, and would be until her husband saw fit to divorce her.
Would he do that soon? Then she walked about furiously, drank tea, and
groaned--she was ennuied beyond description....

Paul had the habit of going to New York every other week, and she raised
no objection as his frivolous manner was very trying during sultry days;
when he was away she could abandon herself to her day-dreams without
fear of interruption. She thought hard, and her strong head often was
puzzled by the cloud of contradictory witnesses her memory raised. But
she cried no more at his absence....

It was quite gaily that she took her seat beside him in the drawing-room
car of the train and impatiently awaited the first sight of the salt
meadows before Jersey City is reached.

"Ah! the sea," she cried enthusiastically, and Paul smiled indulgently.

"You are lyrical, after all, Ellenora," he remarked in his most critical
manner. "Presently you will be calling aloud 'Thalatta, Thalatta!' like
some dithyrambic Greek of old."

"Smell the ocean, Pa