FRED BURTON

Edith slipped out of her evening cloak and came into the foyer of the
Opera House, a spotless vision of white. For a moment she looked at her
cavalier in something like amazement. It did not need the red
handkerchief, a corner of which was creeping out from behind his
waistcoat, to convince her that some extraordinary change had taken
place in Burton. He was looking pale and confused, and his quiet
naturalness of manner had altogether disappeared. He came towards her
awkwardly, swinging a pair of white kid gloves in his hand.

"Bit late, aren't you?" he remarked.

"I am afraid I am a few minutes late," she admitted. "Until the last
moment father said he was coming. We shall have to go in very quietly."

"Come along, then," he said. "I don't know the way. I suppose one of
these fellows will tell us."

His inquiry, loud-voiced and not entirely coherent, received at first
scant attention from the usher to whom he addressed himself. They were
directed to their places at last, however. The house was in darkness,
and with the music Edith forgot, for a time, the slight shock which she
had received. The opera was Samson et Dalila, and a very famous tenor
was making his reappearance after a long absence. Edith gave herself up
to complete enjoyment of the music. Then suddenly she was startled by a
yawn at her side. Burton was sitting back, his hands in his pockets,
his mouth wide-open.

"Mr. Burton!" she exclaimed softly. He had the grace to sit up.
"Long-winded sort of stuff, this," he pronounced, in an audible whisper.

She felt a cold shiver of apprehension. As she saw him lounging there
beside her, her thoughts seemed to go back to the day when she had
looked with scornful disdain at that miserable picnic-party of trippers,
who drank beer out of stone jugs, and formed a blot upon the landscape.
Once more she saw the man who stood a little apart, in his loud clothes
and common cloth cap, saw him looking into the garden. She began to
tremble. What had she done--so nearly done! In spite of herself, the
music drew her away again. She even found herself turning towards him
once for sympathy.

"Isn't it exquisite?" she murmured.

He laughed shortly.

"Give me The Chocolate Soldier," he declared. "Worth a dozen of this!"

Suddenly she realized what had happened. Her anger and resentment faded
away. For the first time she wholly and entirely believed his story.
For the first time she felt that this miracle h