uttered to the debutantes as he had stuttered to their mothers before
them. Furman Fellowes, who told fairy tales to impressionable young
girls, and who would presently get drunk in Sixth Avenue. Jack Rodney,
M. F. H., and Alphabet Jones, the novelist, in search of points.

As Eden entered the vestibule of her box the curtain had parted on the
second act. A Miss Bolten and her mother whom she had invited had
already arrived, and Arnswald, she noticed, went immediately forward to
salute them; then returning, he assisted her with her wrap. In a moment
the vestibule was invaded by Jones; and Eden, after a word or two to her
guests, settled herself in the front of the box and promenaded her
opera-glass about the house. The promenade completed, she lowered it to
the stalls. Near the orchestra a woman sat gazing fixedly at her. There
was nothing remarkable about the woman. She was as well dressed, as
young, and as pretty as were the majority of those present; it was the
singularity of her attitude that arrested Eden's attention. But that
attention she was not permitted to prolong. The adjoining box, the
occupants of which she had not yet noticed, was tenanted by Mrs.
Manhattan, who now claimed her recognition with some little feminine
word of greeting. On one side of Mrs. Manhattan was an elderly man whom
Eden did not remember to have seen before, and behind her stood Dugald
Maule.

"Eden," whispered Mrs. Manhattan, "I want you to know Mr. Maule's uncle;
he has been minister abroad you know;" and so saying, with a motion of
her head, she designated the elderly man at her side. "He says," she
added, "that you are the most appetizing thing he has seen."

At the brusqueness of the remark Eden started as from a sting. The old
gentleman leaned forward.

"Don't be annoyed, my dear," he mumbled; "I was in love with your
mother."

Then with an amiable commonplace the old beau bowed and moved back.

Maule bowed also, and presently, taking advantage of a _recitative_, he
left Mrs. Manhattan and entered Eden's box. He seemed at home at once.
He shook Mr. Usselex by the hand, saluted Miss Bolten and her mother,
ignored Jones, and dislodging Arnswald, took his seat.

"The season promises well," he whispered confidentially to Eden.

Jones, who had not accorded the slightest attention to Maule, was
discoursing in an animated fashion with Miss Bolten. On the stage in a
canvas forest a man stood, open-mouthed, raising and lowering his