place idleness by industry; but the spirit of work failed to respond.
He looked at his watch, rang sharply a bell.

"Put out my clothes," he said to the servant who appeared with a lamp,
"and have a cab at the door."

The opera had already begun, but pandemonium still reigned about the
box-office, and it was half an hour before John Steele succeeded in
reaching the little aperture, with a request for anything that chanced
to be left down-stairs. Armed with a bit of pasteboard, Steele was
stopped as he was about to enter. A thunder of applause from within,
indicating that the first act had come to an end, was followed by the
usual egress of black and white figures, impatient for cigarettes and
light lobby gossip.

"Divine, eh? The opera, I mean!" A voice accosted John Steele, and,
turning, he beheld a familiar face with black whiskers, that of Captain
Forsythe. "This is somewhat different from the morning's environment?"

"Yes," said the other. "But your first question," with a smile, "I'm
afraid I can't answer. I've just come; and, if I hadn't--well, I'm no
judge of music."

"Then you must look as if you were!" laughed the captain frankly. "Don't
know one jolly note from another, but, for goodness' sake, don't betray
me. Just been discussing trills and pizzicatos with Lady Wray."

For a few moments they continued their talk; chance had made them known
to each other some time before, and Captain Forsythe had improved every
opportunity to become better acquainted with one for whom he entertained
a frank admiration. Steele's reserve, however, was not easily
penetrated; he accepted and repaid the other's advances with uniform
courtesy but Forsythe could not flatter himself the acquaintance had
progressed greatly since their first meeting.

A bell sounded; John Steele, excusing himself, entered the auditorium
and was shown to his seat. It proved excellently located, and, looking
around, he found himself afforded a comprehensive view of a spectacle
brilliant and dazzling. Boxes shone with brave hues; gems gleamed
over-plentifully; here and there, accentuating the picture, the gorgeous
colors of some eastern prince stood out like the brighter bits in a
kaleidoscope. Steele's glance swept over royalty, rank and condition. It
took in persons who were more than persons--personages; it passed over
the impassive face of a dark ameer who looked as if he might have
stepped from one of the pages of _The Arabian Nights_, and lin