“Well, John,” he remarked smilingly, “I’ll compromise with you, then; I’ll read Shakespeare instead of the contemporary writer to whom you have introduced me; and thus your hope for my redemption may still be kept alive.” Fenton made no answer, and a moment later they stood at the door, looking through the frost-covered glass upon the wind-swept street. For an instant they hesitated to plunge into the wintry blast. Suddenly Fenton turned to his companion. “How did Mrs. Percy-Bartlett impress you, Richard?” The unexpectedness of the question caused the young man to start nervously. “I find her,” he answered hesitatingly, “a very charming woman.” “Yes, I believe you do,” returned Fenton gruffly. Then he pushed open the doors, and made his way hurriedly across Broadway, leaving Richard Stoughton standing on the hotel steps, gazing wonderingly at the retreating figure of his eccentric friend. CHAPTER VI. In spite of the storm, a large audience had gathered at the Metropolitan Opera House. The first rendition of Saint-Saëns’s opera, “Sanson et Dalila” had been a magnet to the multitude that can endure a biblical story if it is presented to them in an attractive setting. As the irreverent Buchanan Budd had whispered to Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, “The Old Testament is full of unused librettos. But it is strange that the ‘first lesson’ of this evening’s service should come to us from wicked Paris.” The Percy-Bartletts’ parterre-box contained four persons as the curtain arose, the stage showing the unhappy Hebrews mourning the desertion of Jehovah, and the afflictions forced upon them by the priests of Dagon, the fish-god. Just in front of Richard Stoughton sat Gertrude Van Vleck, for the time being Mrs. Percy-Bartlett’s most intimate friend. This means, of course, that they confided in each other in a gingerly way, and spoke of each other in terms of enthusiastic admiration to third persons.