"Don't worry, father," she said, trying to smile. "I'm happier than I deserve. Listen!" As the last exquisite cadences died away, Van Berg saw that there were tears in her eyes. What did they mean? "Stanton repeated my harsh words and she recalls them," was the best explanation he could think of. "By the fates!" he exclaimed, "if there isn't Sibley with a toilet as spotless as he is himself smirched and blackened. Curse him! he actually has the impudence to speak to Miss Mayhew," and the artist started up threateningly, but before discovering himself, he remembered that Ida's natural protector was at her side. And yet he fairly trembled with rage and protest, that this fellow should be so near her again. He also saw that Mr. Mayhew rose and looked very menacing. But Ida was equal to the emergency, and extricated herself with womanly dignity, for while she blushed scarlet with shame, she was quiet and self-possessed, and paid no heed to his eagerly proffered hand. "I was not myself that hateful day, Miss Ida," he said hastily. "I fear you were, sir," she coldly replied. "At any rate, I am not my old self, and until you win and maintain the character of a gentleman, we must be strangers. Good evening, sir;" and she turned her back upon him. His face became fairly livid with rage, but on encountering the stern and threatening eyes of Mr. Mayhew he slunk away and left the building. "That's my peerless, noble Ida," whispered her father. "Oh thank God! thank God! I could not have survived if you had realized the fears I once had about that low scoundrel." Ida's lip quivered as she said, "Father, please take me home. I don't enjoy myself here." They had taken but a few steps toward the door when the artist confronted them with eyes aglow with admiration and sympathy. Poor Ida had no time to mask her feelings or check her impulses, and she took his extended hand as if she were sinking, while the color and light of welcome flashed brightly into her face. Then her beautiful confusion suggested that she felt her greeting had been too cordial, and she sought with indifferent success to regain her dignity. "Please don't go just yet," said Van Berg eagerly. "The concert is but half over, and there are some pretty things still to come." Ida hesitated and looked doubtfully at her father. "I shall be very glad to stay," he said with a smile, "if you feel able to. My daughter is not very well, I fear," he added in explanation to the artist. "Perhaps it has been a little close here in the lobby," suggested Van Berg, "and a walk in the open air will be agreeable. If you will trust your daughter to me, sir, I promise to bring her back before she is tired. I have much to tell her about her old friend, Mr. Eltinge, whom I visited yesterday, and the pictures. Perhaps you will go with us, for I know what I have to say will interest you also."