cademy of Music. Royal and I helped to make up a merry box party. I
felt festive and gay in my lovely white crepe georgette gown. Royal said
I looked like a dream and that made me radiant, I know.

As we sat down I whispered to him that I was excited because hearing
that great singer has always been one of my dearest dreams and now the
dream was coming true. He whispered back that more of my dreams would
soon come true. I made him hush, for several people were looking at us.
But his words sent my heart thrilling.

The Academy became quiet as the singer appeared, then the audience gave
her a real Brotherly Love welcome and settled once more into silence as
her beautiful voice rose in the place. The operatic selections were
beautifully rendered. I thought her voice was most captivating in the
simple songs everybody knows. Annie Laurie had new charm as she sang it.
When she sang that Royal whispered, "That is what I feel for you." I
smiled into his eyes, then turned again to look at the singer. Could I
ever sing like that? Would the dreams of my childhood come true? It
seemed improbable and yet--I had traveled a long way from the little
girl of the tight braids and brown gingham dresses, I thought. Perhaps
the future would bring still more wonderful changes.

The hours in the Academy of Music passed like a beautiful dream. I
shrank from the last song, though. It was too much like some fatal, dire
prophecy:

"The cord is frayed, the cruse is dry,
The link must break, and the lamp must die--
Good-bye to hope! Good-bye, good-bye!"

I told Royal I didn't like it, it was too much like Cassandra.

He laughed and said she generally sings it, but that it couldn't hurt
us--was I superstitious?

"No, oh, no," I declared. But I wished I could forget the words of that
song.

Some of the party decided that a proper ending to the delightful evening
would be a visit to a fashionable cafe. I didn't care to go. Royal urged
me till I consented and I soon found myself in a beautiful place where
merry groups of people were seated about small tables. Any desire for
food I might have had left me as I heard Royal and the other men order
wines and highballs.

"What will you have, Phoebe?" Royal asked me.

I gasped--"Why--nothing."

"Be a sport," he urged, "look around and do as the 'Romans do.'"

I looked around. Some of the women were smoking, others were drinking.

"Oh," I said, "this is dreadful. Let's