Ah, well, more
power to her! But her mother cleaned soiled linen in Washerwoman's
Lagoon and her dad renovated cuspidors, swept floors in the
Bella Union."

But the girl did not seem interested. "I wonder," she remarked a little
later, "why it makes so very much--ah--difference ... who one's
parents were?"

There was a curious, half-detached sadness in her tone. Frank wondered
suddenly if he had blundered. Bertha had never mentioned her parents. He
vaguely understood that they had died abroad and had foreborne to
question, fearing to arouse some tragic memory.

"Of course, it really doesn't matter," he said hastily; "it's only when
people put on airs that I think of such things." She took his arm with
fingers that trembled slightly. "Let us go in. The overture is
beginning."

During an intermission she whispered. "I wish I were like Carmen--bold
enough to fight the world for lo--for what I wanted."

"Aren't you?" he turned and looked at her.

"No, sometimes I'm overwhelmed ... feel as though I can't look life in
the face." He saw that her lips were trembling, that her eyes were
winking back the tears.

"What is it, dear?" he questioned. But she did not answer. The curtain
rose upon the final act.

Silently they moved out with a throng whose silk skirts swished and
rustled. The men were restless, glad of a chance at the open and a
smoke; the women gay, exalted, half intoxicated by the musical appeal to
their emotions. There was an atmosphere almost of hysteria in the great
swiftly emptying auditorium.

"I feel sort of--smothered," Bertha said; "suppose we walk."

"Gladly," answered Frank, "but what about the coupe?"

"There's one of these new livery stables with machine shop attached not
far away. They call it a garage.... We'll leave the brougham there,"
she said.

* * * * *

The night was curiously still--breathless one might have called it.
While the temperature was not high, there was an effect of warmth,
vaguely disturbing like the presage of a storm. As they traversed a
region of hotels and apartment houses, Frank and Bertha noted many open
windows; men and women staring out half dreamily. They passed a livery
stable, out of which there came a weird uncanny dissonance of horses
neighing in their stalls.

"Tell me of your actress friend. Do you see her often?" Bertha asked.

"Not very. She's a good pal. But she's ... well, not like you."

Her eyes searched him. "