She was one of the prettiest women you could see anywhere, and, luckily, not too exacting. In fact, she hadn't a fault if it weren't that she was a bit cold, and he couldn't understand how it was; women were not generally cold with him. The question interested him profoundly, and as he considered it his glance wandered from the loose blue masses of hair to the white satin shoe which she held to the red blaze. 'Dick, do you think you'll always love me as you do now?' 'I'm sure of it, dear.' 'It seems to me, if one really loves once one must love always. But I don't know how I can talk to you like this, for how can you respect me? I've been so very wicked.' 'What nonsense, Kate! How can you talk like that? I wouldn't respect you if you went on living with a man you didn't care about.' 'Well, I liked him well enough till you came, dear, but I couldn't then--it wasn't all my fault; but if you should cease to care for me I think I should die. But you won't; tell me that you won't, dear Dick.' At that moment the door opened; it was Montgomery come to see them. Kate jumped off Dick's knees, and, settling her skirts with the pretty movement of a surprised woman, threw herself into a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. The musician had come to speak about his opera, especially the opening chorus, about which he could not make up his mind. 'My boy,' said Dick, 'don't be afraid of making it too long. There's nothing like having a good strong number to begin with--something with grip in it, you know.' Montgomery looked vaguely into space; he was obviously not listening, but was trying to follow out some musical scheme that was running in his head. After a long silence he said: 'What I can't make up my mind about is whether I ought to concert that first number or have it sung in unison. Now listen. The scene is the wedding festivities of Prince Florimel, who is about to wed Eva, the daughter of the Duke of Perhapsburg--devilish good name, you know. Well then, the flower-girls come on first, scattering flowers; they proceed two by two and arrange themselves in line on both sides of the stage. They are followed by trumpeters and a herald; then come the ladies-in-waiting, the pages, the courtiers, and the palace servants. Very well; the first four lines, you know--"Hail! hail! the festive day"--that, of course, is sung by the sopranos.' 'You surely don't want to concert that, do you?' interrupted Dick. 'Of course not; you must think me an ignoramus. The first four lines are sung naturally in unison; then there is a repeat, in which the tenors and basses are singing against the women's voices. By that time the stage will be full. Well, then, what I'm thinking of doing, when I get to the second part, you know--"May the stars much pleasure send you, may romance and love attend you," is to repeat "May the stars."'