“You go ahead with Lucy,” he suggested to John, after greetings were exchanged. “You’ve got the tickets.” “No. You go with Lucy,” said John, “and I’ll come on with Nannie.” By the time they reached the theatre and entered their box the overture was ending. The curtain rose as they seated themselves. “Now, didn’t you like it?” Nannie asked Lucy as the curtain fell on the final tableau of the first act. “I certainly didn’t like that song,” returned Lucy. “What song? The one about the butterfly?” “No. The other one, ‘What Would Robinson Crusoe Have Done?’.” “Why, I thought it was cute.” “It was vulgar.” “Why, I didn’t think of it’s being vulgar till you spoke of it just now.” Nannie smiled at John. “It sure was,” said Jim, rising. “May I go and smoke?” he asked Lucy. “Yes,” she replied. “And I, too,” said John. “You sure can, John,” smiled Nannie. “Didn’t you think the dresses in that yachting scene were just grand?” she continued when the men had left her and Lucy alone. “Yes,” agreed Lucy absently. Nannie began to study the audience through her opera glass. “Why, there’s Miss Powell!” she ejaculated in a pleased tone. “She’s bowing to us. Don’t you see her, Lucy?” “No,” answered Lucy, barely glancing in the direction her mother indicated. Nothing more was said until John and Jim appeared. “Now let’s go and have a little supper,” John proposed when the performance was at an end. “That will be delightful!” cried Nannie, clapping her hands. Lucy looked at John. “We’ll get home so late,” she objected, “and Mrs. Hamilton can’t leave until we get back.” “Darn Mrs. Hamilton!” he declared. “She’s probably carried Dimmie over to her house and there’s plenty of time before the last train.” “I don’t want any supper,” persisted Lucy. “Oh, come on, Lucy!” said John with his newly acquired querulousness. “What do you want to spoil everything for?” “But I’d rather not,” Lucy insisted. “Why?” “Well, I have a headache, for one thing.” “All right,” acquiesced Nannie, in the tone of a patient martyr. “Let’s go home then.” “It’s a shame!” John asserted. “Your evening will be spoiled, Nannie.” “Oh, my pleasure don’t matter, John. If Lucy would rather not it’s all right.” “I’ll take Lucy home and you two can stay,” interrupted Jim in a rather aggressive tone. “Oh, no,” refused Mrs. Merwent. “You needn’t do that. We’ll go.” “I’m not very strong for eating at this hour myself,” Jim continued, “and I don’t mind seeing Lucy home a bit.” “Well, all right, Jim--if you don’t mind,” agreed John, helping Nannie with her opera cloak. In the foyer they met Miss Powell, in an elegant black décolleté gown, and an opera cloak of old rose. “Why, how do you do, Mrs. Merwent!” She came up to Nannie and shook hands. “I’m so glad to see you.” Then, turning to John and Lucy, “Mr. Winter, Mrs. Winter.” “You know Mr. Sprague, Miss Powell,” said Lucy. “Why, yes. How do you do, Mr. Sprague?” She turned to Nannie again.