“But you must have come--so early! It isn't twelve o'clock yet,” she faltered. A slight smile curved Alice Greggory's lips. “Yes, it was early,” she rejoined a little bitterly; “but it had to be, you know. I wanted to hear the music; and with this soloist, and this weather, I knew that many others--would want to hear the music, too.” “But you look so white! How much longer--when will they let you in?” demanded Billy, raising indignant eyes to the huge, gray-pillared building before her, much as if she would pull down the walls if she could, and make way for this tired girl at her side. Miss Greggory's thin shoulders rose and fell in an expressive shrug. “Half-past one.” Billy gave a dismayed cry. “Half-past one--almost two hours more! But, Miss Greggory, you can't--how can you stand it till then? You've shivered three times since I came, and you look as if you were going to faint away.” Miss Greggory shook her head. “It is nothing, really,” she insisted. “I am quite well. It is only--I didn't happen to feel like eating much breakfast this morning; and that, with no luncheon--” She let a gesture finish her sentence. “No luncheon! Why--oh, you couldn't leave your place, of course,” frowned Billy. “No, and”--Alice Greggory lifted her head a little proudly--“I do not care to eat--here.” Her scornful eyes were on one of the pieces of pie down the line--no longer a triangle. “Of course not,” agreed Billy, promptly. She paused, frowned, and bit her lip. Suddenly her face cleared. “There! the very thing,” she exulted. “You shall have my ticket this afternoon, Miss Greggory, then you won't have to stay here another minute. Meanwhile, there is an excellent restaurant--” “Thank you--no. I couldn't do that,” cut in the other, sharply, but in a low voice. “But you'll take my ticket,” begged Billy. Miss Greggory shook her head. “Certainly not.” “But I want you to, please. I shall be very unhappy if you don't,” grieved Billy. The other made a peremptory gesture. “_I_ should be very unhappy if I did,” she said with cold emphasis. “Really, Miss Neilson,” she went on in a low voice, throwing an apprehensive glance at the man ahead, who was apparently absorbed in his newspaper, “I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to let me go on in my own way. You are very kind, but there is nothing you can do; nothing. You were very kind, too, of course, to send the book and the flowers to mother at Christmas; but--” “Never mind that, please,” interrupted Billy, hurriedly. Billy's head was lifted now. Her eyes were no longer pleading. Her round little chin looked square and determined. “If you simply will not take my ticket this afternoon, you _must_ do this. Go to some restaurant near here and get a good luncheon--something that will sustain you. I will take your place here.” “_Miss Neilson!_”