th. You said it meant eternity."

"Yes, I know I did; but----"

"Did it mean nothing as well?"

"A circle represents zero, does it not?"

"Eden, Eden, how cruel you can be! Will you not let me see you?"

"Certainly, I am at home on Saturdays."

"Yes, I know--Saturday is Fifth Avenue day. Eden, tell me, do you
remember Second Avenue?"

From the orchestra came a murmur, a consonance of harps and of flutes.
The curtain had parted again.

"No," she answered; "I have forgotten."

"Surely----"

"Yes, I have forgotten. It is good to forget. This is the last act, is
it not?"

"No, it is the prologue."

The speech was as significant as her own. For a second he was silent,
and bit his under lip. Then, as Jones had done before, he stood up.

"I will come," he muttered in her ear, "but not on Saturday."

"Good-night, Mr. Maule."

"Good-night, Mrs. Usselex."

With a circular salute to the other occupants, Maule left the box.
Presently it was invaded by other visitors of whom no particular
mention is necessary. At last there was a wail and final crash in the
orchestra. The opera was done.

On the way home Usselex questioned his wife. "Who is that man Maule?" he
asked.

"Miss Bolten is interested in him, I believe."

"I hope not," Usselex returned; "he has a bad face."

V.

The next morning Eden awoke in her great room that overlooked Fifth
Avenue. The night had been constellated with dreams, and now as they
faded from her there was one that lingered behind. Through a rift of
consciousness she had seen herself talking with feverish animation to
Arnswald, on some subject of vital importance, the which, however, she
was unable to recall; it had gone with the night, leaving on the camera
of memory only the tableau behind. For a little space she groped after
it unavailingly, and then dismissed it from her. But still the tableau
lingered until it became obscured by her own vexation. She felt annoyed
as at an impertinence. What right had Arnswald to trespass in her
dreams?

She rang the bell, and when in answer to the summons her maid appeared,
she gave herself up to the woman's ministrations. The annoyance faded as
the dream had done, and she fell to thinking of the day and of her
husband. At one there was a luncheon at which she was expected, and in
the evening there was a dinner at Mrs. Manhattan's. Her husband, she
knew, had gone to his office hours ago and would not return until late.
It had occur