t
bolt-upright.

"What in the world, child, made you go on so tonight?"

"I don't know."

"What made you snub Mr. Lyon so often?"

"Did I? He won't mind much. Didn't you see, mother, that he was distrait
the moment he espied that girl? I'm not going to waste my time. I know
the signs. No fisheries imbroglio for me, thank you."

"Fish? Who said anything about fish?"

"Oh, the international business. Ask Mr. Henderson to explain it. The
English want to fish in our waters, I believe. I think Mr. Lyon has had a
nibble from a fresh-water fish. Perhaps it's the other way, and he's
hooked. There be fishers of men, you know, mother."

"You are a strange child, Carmen. I hope you will be civil to both of
them." And they rode on in silence.

VIII

In real life the opera or the theatre is only the prologue to the
evening. Our little party supped at Delgardo's. The play then begins. New
York is quite awake by that time, and ready to amuse itself. After the
public duty, the public attitudinizing, after assisting at the artificial
comedy and tragedy which imitate life under a mask, and suggest without
satisfying, comes the actual experience. My gentle girl--God bless your
sweet face and pure heart!--who looked down from the sky-parlor at the
Metropolitan upon the legendary splendor of the stage, and the alluring
beauty and wealth of the boxes, and went home to create in dreams the
dearest romance in a maiden's life, you did not know that for many the
romance of the night just began when the curtain fell.

The streets were as light as day. At no other hour were the pavements so
thronged, was there such a crush of carriages, such a blockade of cars,
such running, and shouting, greetings and decorous laughter, such a swirl
of pleasurable excitement. Never were the fashionable cafes and
restaurants so crowded and brilliant. It is not a carnival time; it is
just the flow and ebb of a night's pleasure, an electric night which has
all of the morning except its peace, a night of the gayest opportunity
and unlimited possibility.

At each little table was a drama in progress, light or serious--all the
more serious for being light at the moment and unconsidered. Morgan, who
was so well informed in the gossip of society and so little involved in
it--some men have this faculty, which makes them much more entertaining
than the daily newspaper--knew the histories of half the people in the
room. There were an Italian marquis and