e work, on which he would pass some characteristic comment,
and then depart, taking Jean with him, and saying to her with a chuckle,
that sounded like intense satisfaction:

"Come along with me, Jeanie, and let's leave the young folks alone with
their drawing. I guess they can manage it better alone;" and Jean would
go regretfully, and with an innocent wondering how her staying would
make any difference.

One evening, towards the latter part of September, Roger came up from
the city, and meeting Olive on the lawn, drew two tickets from his
pocket, and threw them into her lap.

[Illustration: MR. CONGREVE WOULD COME INTO THE GALLERY.]

"There! The first opera of the season, and pretty early for that, too!
but I hear they are rather good, and they give 'Bohemian Girl' to-night,
so I bought tickets. Shall we go?"

"Yes, it was kind of you. I would like to hear it very much," answered
Olive with a pleased smile. "Do you know, I never heard an opera in my
life."

"Is it possible?" in intense surprise. "Why, we will go every night they
are here, if you say so."

"Oh, no," with an air of reproof. "That would be very nice, but too
extravagant. I know money is nothing to you, but then it wouldn't seem
right to spend so much for mere pleasure when there are so many poor."

He looked at her in surprise for a moment, but was too modest to tell
that he gave twice as much to worthy poor as he ever gave to personal
pleasure; so the subject dropped, and they were silent until Olive
asked, with a sudden recollection of how she had frequently heard him
describe ladies' toilets:

"Do they--I will have to ask you because there is no one else--but do
the ladies dress much at opera, here?"

"Just as they please. It is not so popular as formerly. Street dress is
mostly worn now."

"Well, I don't know as it makes any difference, for I've got just so
much to dress in, and would have to wear it anyhow," said Olive, with a
composed laugh, which indicated how little she cared for what was
popular aside from a polite desire to be becomingly attired in the eyes
of her escort.

"Will you wear some flowers if I will send them up to you?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Why do you always thank me for every little thing as if we were perfect
strangers?" he exclaimed, with a little impatience, and a sort of vague
feeling that if she realized or cared for the devotion accompanying the
acts, she would accept them more as a matter of course.

"Why