the box, recalled
that look and drew behind the curtains. In memory, soft arms were round
his throat as a voice, the same, yet not the same, sang:

"No signor, not a lady am I,
Nor yet a beauty,
And do not need an arm
To guide me on my way."

A golden voice, with tones so breathed they had the liquidness of the
bluebird's call, as Paris held its breath before the beauty and wonder
of it; a voice which Frank remembered amid the pine and honeysuckle
underneath the night blue of the Carolinas, saying:

"God keep you always just as you are, beloved."

* * * * *

From the first scene to the clear end, when, in the divine trio,
Campanali, Rigard, and Katrine caught fire from each other and went mad
together, in that great, strong music where right triumphs, as the song
climbs higher and higher in its great insistence, it was such triumph as
no first performance had been in the memory of our generation, a success
that admitted no cavilling or question, a success indisputable and
unparalleled, and before the performance was ended the papers were
chronicling, for the ends of the earth, that a world star had arisen in
the firmament of song.

McDermott's face was an open book for all who cared to read. The one
woman on earth for him was triumphing, and his thoughts were all for
her, and Master Josef saw and noted even in his excitement and
trembling.

Frank, too, gloried in Katrine's success, but underneath the pleasure
there was a senseless jealousy, a resentment of the position in which it
placed her to him. And the conduct of Dermott McDermott during the
evening was another bitter morsel for his palate; for the Irishman
carried an air of ownership of everything, even of Josef; gave an
appraising and managerial attention to the audience; and bowed to
Katrine, when she smiled at him over a huge bunch of green orchids with
an Irish flag in the ribbons, with such an air of proprietorship that it
made the time scarcely endurable to Frank. But he played the game by a
masterly method, and drew nearer to Anne, looking into her eyes with the
devotion which he knew so well how to assume, despising himself as he
did so. But after the last _brava_ had been given and he had put his
mother into the brougham, saying, abruptly, that he preferred to walk,
his heart and head came to an unexpected encounter. He stood alone,
unnoting the passers-by, oblivious of the superfluous praise of
Ka