, but I
must be careful!" And so he walked rapidly home to his lodgings,
alternately in a heaven of joy or in a hell of despair.

Chapter Sixteen

"What a strange old man," mused Helene, as she sat in a box that night
at the Academy of Music and listened to an aria from "William Tell."
"Why do I think of him so constantly?"

"My dear Helene, you are not a very attentive hostess," said Charlotte
Wendall, a tall brunette. It was after the curtain had fallen on the
act, and the box was filled up with visitors. There was always a crowd
in the Stanton box on the grand tier when Helene Stanton was present.

"My cousin Beverly has spoken to you twice, and you have not even
intimated that you are aware of his presence."

Charlotte Wendall, as a classmate of Helene's at Vassar, took a school
friend's privilege of saying just what she thought. Besides, Helene
was fond of her, and permitted her to say what she pleased.

"Won't you speak to me?" pleaded Beverly. "I do so want to be noticed!
I'll be satisfied with a glance in my direction."

Beverly Cruger had recently finished a post-graduate course at Harvard
and was just budding into the diplomatic service. He was a fine manly
looking chap of twenty-seven, and as he looked down into Helene
Stanton's face, his pleading eyes attested to the fact that he was more
than merely interested in her.

"I beg your pardon," said Helene, shaking hands with him warmly.

"Helene is very pensive to-night. I can't make her out," interposed
Octavie, a pretty little blonde sprite, and a perfect antithesis to her
sister Charlotte. "She is thinking of some one who is not here."

"Quite true," nodded Helene, smiling.

"Happy fellow," murmured Beverly.

"On the contrary," said Helene, who had sharp ears. "The fellow I am
thinking about is very unhappy."

"Ah, one of those sad affairs, with languishing eyes, who simpers and
sighs!" said Charlotte laughingly, bursting into what she called poetry.

Helene smiled a little. "You'd never guess," she said thoughtfully.
Then, after a pause, "I am thinking of a musician, a music master who
lives downtown in one of the little side streets of our crowded city.
He is an artist and a gentleman, who has in all probability devoted the
best years of his life to his music; and he has made a failure of it."

"Did he tell you his story?" asked Beverly, slightly interested.

Helene shook her head. "He told me he was a great success, a
f