of "Masaniello," then all the rage, and at the zenith of its popularity,
with Mrs. Stanbury, Laura, and George Gaston--Norman had been recently
placed in the navy and he was absent now, and Mr. Gerald Stanbury
obstinately refused to accompany us to that "monkey-and-parrot show," as
he deliberately dubbed the Italian opera.

"When men and women who are in love or grief, or who are telling each
other the news, or secrets, stop to set their words to music, and roar
and howl in each other's ears, the world will be mad, and the opera
natural," he said. "I will not lend my countenance before them to such a
villainous travesty."

As "Masaniello" had nearly had its run, and Evelyn was disinclined to
see it again, having attended during the winter about twenty
representations of this great musical spectacle, I was fain to go with
our neighbors and their very youthful escort, or forego my opera.

As we entered the crowded lobby, Laura and I walked together behind
George Gaston and Mrs. Stanbury, dropping later into Indian file as the
crowd increased, in which order I was the last. I wore a rich India
shawl, that had been my mother's, caught by a cameo clasp across the
bosom. Suddenly I felt the pin wrenched away and the shawl torn from my
shoulders. In another moment there was a cry--a scuffle--a fall--and a
prostrate form was borne away between two policemen, while a gentleman,
with his cravat hanging loose and his hair in wild confusion, came
toward me eagerly, extending the shawl and clasp.

"These are yours, I believe, young lady," he remarked, breathlessly,
throwing the shawl about my shoulders as he spoke, and laying the broken
clasp in my hand. "I am happy to restore them to you."

The whole transaction had been so sudden and so public, that there had
been neither time nor room for trepidation on my part. My own party,
pressing steadily on, had not yet missed me, so that, even in that
moment of excitement, I surveyed my champion with an eye capable of
future recognition.

"Thank you," I said. "I hope you are not hurt in my service?"

"No, no; not at all--that is, very slightly, indeed. Pass on, I will
attend you safely to your seat," and, obeying the wave of his hand, I
followed the direction of Mrs. Stanbury's white plume as observingly as
did the followers of Henry of Navarre, without turning again until I
reached the box she had entered. I was shocked then, as I bowed my
thanks, at the ghastly whiteness and expre