She did not stir until the end of the number. Then with a little sigh she turned slightly so that he saw the faint shadow of a dark lash on her cheek. A scarlet ribbon, tied under a plain collar, flashed an instant’s colour to her face before she settled herself for the next number. There was something distinguished, noble even, in the poise of her head; and soon before the mad flight of the Valkyries it bent as to a storm. It pleased his fancy that the waves of sound floating upward surged round her with a particular intent. He was quite sure, however, that she must not see him here. He knew the quality of her anger; the ground he had gained at the parish house must not be lost. If he wished to retain her respect he must avoid the appearance of lying in wait for her. The sensation of caring for anyone’s respect, least of all that of this unknown girl, who had instinctively, on first sight, set up barriers of defense against him, was new to his experience. He left before the last number to continue his search for Wingfield, and found a scrawl at the box-office explaining his friend’s absence, but suggesting that they dine together at the Club. Wayne glanced at the treasurer’s report, made a note of the day’s proceeds, and as he mingled in the crowd, found himself walking at Miss Morley’s side. “It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” she said, as the crowd caught and held them. One or two women bowed to him distantly and eyed with cold interest the tall girl in the unfashionable clothes to whom he was speaking. He was conscious of this inspection of her and it angered him. He heard his name spoken by someone behind him--“That’s Wayne Craighill,”--as though he were a notorious character to be pointed out boldly to strangers. “You think they liked it? It wasn’t too much on one key?” “It was lovely, but of course I don’t know, I never heard an orchestra before. It probably meant more to me for that reason.” “Yes, I suppose first times bring the rarest sensations. They really did the Valkyries in great form.” “That was perfectly glorious; I should like to hear all the opera.” “You are beyond doubt a natural born Wagnerian; I must tell my friend Wingfield how well the audience took his programme. He’s the power behind the orchestra, and he contends that the best is not too good, that people who never heard these things before are just as competent to criticize as trained musicians. You should hear a symphony now--give Beethoven a chance, then try the opera--on and up to the heights.” “I don’t know about the heights, but I was pretty well up on the slope this afternoon, and the whole world was mine.” She spoke with feeling, this girl who had never heard an orchestra before, but who had followed the trumpets to new and strange summits and still carried dreams in her eyes. It was a gray November afternoon and he intended to make it easy for her to leave him here, under the bright entrance lights. “I’m going to Mrs. Blair’s,” she explained.