“It’s well you joined us; we were about to say the most dreadful things of you, weren’t we, Miss Morley? But now we’ll discuss the diplodocus in the museum, the greatest of Pittsburg topics. Mrs. Craighill has just been telling me of your studies. Can you enlighten me as to whether you students of the graphic arts really take an interest in music--and the other way around? I have my doubts of it; one art’s enough at a time.” “Oh, the students at the Institute all go to the concerts because they like music and it helps. I went to the Wagner matinée and it quite inspired me; I wasn’t so bad for several days.” “Ah, you were there at that matinée! I had expected to go myself, but my nerves had been screwed up like a fiddle-string by the rumour that the harpist was threatened with a felon on her thumb; I couldn’t have stood that. The troubles of an orchestra are innumerable, I assure you, Miss Morley. I’m always bailing out some fiddler who has beaten his wife. And the oboe is a dreadful instrument; they say men who elect it as their life work always go insane: the strain of piping into so small a hole bursts blood vessels in the brain. Think of a man giving his whole life to perfecting himself on an instrument that sends him, just as he pipes his most perfect note, to a mad-house for his pains.” “For mad-house you might substitute jail,” remarked Wayne. “The oboe is not my favourite instrument.” “You don’t know an oboe from a parlour melodeon. Please don’t take Mr. Craighill’s musical criticisms seriously, Miss Morley. He and I are on the programme committee--perhaps it’s only fair to the rest of the community to say that we are it! We wrestle with the conductor about what we shall give the dear people, and because we don’t give ‘request’ programmes every time with Sousa and Beethoven hashed together, the newspapers jump on us hard.” When at ten o’clock the door closed upon the callers, Mrs. Craighill declared that she was tired, and carried Jean off to bed. Wayne understood perfectly, however, that he was to await Mrs. Craighill’s further pleasure, and he lighted a cigar and made himself comfortable before the fire. In a few minutes he heard the murmur of her skirts on the stair, and she entered quickly with accusation in her eyes. He rose and leaned against the mantel-shelf. She was very angry in her pretty, pouting way. She flung herself into a chair and broke out at once: “What do you think of _that_? Wasn’t the girl enough without those two men? The most hateful, hideous persons I ever met!” “But, Addie, you don’t suppose I asked them here? You’ve got to be reasonable about this. The girl _was_ unfortunate; but if we hadn’t picked her up we should have been in a box if these men had come here. It strikes me that we’re in the greatest luck.”