obably shouldn't make any complaint if I had. I shall forget all about
it tomorrow. I find it's never safe to let the sun go down on my wrath.
It's very likely not to be there the next day."

"I wasn't thinking of making a complaint," said Maidie; but the two
young men were enjoying the small joke too much to notice what she said.

The great doorway of Music Hall was just ahead. In a moment the party
were within its friendly shelter, stamping off the snow. The girls
were adjusting veils and hats with adroit feminine touches; the pretty
chaperon was beaming approval upon them, and the young men were taking
off their wet overcoats, when Maidie turned again in sudden desperation.

"Mr. Harris," she said, rather faintly, for she did not like to make
herself disagreeable, "do you suppose that car comes right back from
Scollay Square?"

"What car?" asked Walter Harris, blankly. "Oh, the one we came in? Yes,
I suppose it does. They're running all the time, anyway. Why, you are
not sick, are you, Miss Williams?"

There was genuine concern in his tone. This girl, with her sweet,
vibrant voice, her clear gray eyes, seemed very charming to him. She
wasn't beautiful, perhaps, but she was the kind of girl he liked. There
was a steady earnestness in the gray eyes that made him think of his
mother.

"No," said Maidie, slowly. "I'm all right, thank you. But I wish I could
find that man again. I know sometimes they have to make it up if their
accounts are wrong, and I couldn't--we couldn't feel very comfortable--"

Frank Armstrong interrupted her. "Maidie," he said, with the studied
calmness with which one speaks to an unreasonable child, "you are
perfectly absurd. Here it is within five minutes of the tune for the
concert to begin. It is impossible to tell when that car is coming back.
You are making us all very uncomfortable. Mrs. Tirrell, won't you please
tell her not to spoil our afternoon?"

"I think he's right, Maidie," said Mrs. Tirrell. "It's very nice of you
to feel so sorry for the poor man, but he really was very careless. It
was all his own fault. And just think how far he made us walk! My feet
are quite damp. We ought to go in directly or we shall all take cold,
and I'm sure you wouldn't like that, my dear."

She led the way as she spoke, the two girls and young Armstrong
following. Maidie hesitated. It was so easy to go in, to forget
everything in the light and warmth and excitement.

"No," said she, very firmly