rs we couldn't have picked a
finer sundown."

"Sundown--and the end."

Shelby threw her a glance, and beckoning the waiter, added champagne to
his order.

"We'll not let the celebration peter out in the dumps," he declared.

She demurred faintly. She was unused to wine with her meals, she said;
Joe had old-fashioned ideas about women and wine, and so on; but in the
end they shared the bottle equally, and the holiday took a new lease of
life. Night set in before they finished. The river went black and
mysterious, the shipping lights winked forth like glow-worms, and the
illuminated walking beam of a ferry-boat minced a fantastic progress
from shore to shore. The sometime home of the ex-King of Spain
flowered within and without with electricity, and life simplified
itself to cakes and ale.

From the steps they watched their hansom detach itself from the long
line of yellow-eyed monsters waiting in the outer gloom.

"It must end now," sighed Mrs. Hilliard. "There's the theatre,--why
not? New York is so big."

"I must not."

"Nothing heavy. Say burlesque or vaudeville?"

"If I dared--"

Shelby put her in the hansom and gave the driver the name of a music
hall. The lights of the theatrical district charmed the last prudent
doubt away.

There was a moment's embarrassment at the ticket-office. The little
theatre they had chosen enjoyed a considerable vogue, and the man at
the window could offer nothing less than a box. Shelby was staggered,
but recalling his affluence, flirted a bill through the opening and
neglected to count his change. Not until the usher had brought them to
their box did Mrs. Hilliard comprehend the situation. She whispered,
"Oh, Ross!" hesitated an instant, then entering, laid aside her wraps
under the opera glass inquisition invited by her blond hair.

"How could you?" she murmured, as the house darkened.

"I wouldn't back down before that ticket-seller with you there behind
looking so handsome and swell."

"We should never have come."

Shelby caught her fingers in a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't you worry," he enjoined. "This isn't the Grand Opera House of
New Babylon."

Perceiving that other men smoked, Shelby lit a cigar, and as the
plotless play began to unfold its tuneful fooling Mrs. Hilliard forgot
to be apprehensive. She observed in the audience another woman with
blond hair sipping something from a glass, and wondered if she were
missing an opportunity to be co