“Oh, by the way,” put in Elias, addressing himself to Christine, “did you know? They're going to give the 'Damnation of Faust' at the Symphony rehearsal Friday afternoon--the great work of Berlioz. Have you ever heard it?” “No; but I have heard selections from it. I wish”--bringing her eyes to bear upon her father--“I wish I could go.” “Well, why don't ye? Who's to prevent ye?” “Will you take me?” “Not I. But, Great Scott, what's the use of being a pretty young girl if you've got to drag your aged father around after you? Why don't you get some young man? I'll bet there are twenty young fellows in this town, who'd only be too glad. But she, Mr. Bacharach, she scares them all away, with her high and mighty manners. She's too particular. She'll die an old maid, mark my words.” Elias caught a glimpse of a golden opportunity. “I wish, Miss Redwood, I wish you would go with me,” he ventured, a little timidly, and waited anxiously for her response. “There you are, Chris!” cried her father. “There's your chance! But”--turning to Elias--“but she won't. You see if she will.” “Oh, thank you, Mr. Bacharach? That's lovely. I'll go with the very greatest pleasure.” Her eyes lighted up; and leaving her seat, she ran around the table, and deposited a wholly irrelevant kiss upon her father's forehead. “Ha-ha-ha!” laughed that gentleman, clapping his hands. “You're the first young fellow I've seen, Mr. Bacharach, who she thought was good enough for her. By George, Chris, there's hope for you, after all.” “Oh,” cried Christine, “I'm so glad. I never wanted any thing more in my life, than I did to hear the--the--it sounds awfully profane, doesn't it?--'Damnation of Faust.'” “Well, now,” said the old man, “there's nothing like killing two birds with one stone. So what I propose is this: I propose that you come up here Friday forenoon, Mr. Bacharach; and then you can work for a while at her portrait. Afterward she'll give you a bite of lunch--won't ye, Chris?--and you can tote her off to the concert. By the way, where does it take place? At the Academy?” “No; at Steinway Hall.” “And when does it let out?” “At about half-past four, I think.” “All right. Then I'll meet you at the door when it's over--my shop, you know, is just around the corner--I'll meet you at the door and save you the trouble of bringing her home. How does that suit, eh?” “Very well,” said Elias; but he thought that he should not have minded the trouble of bringing her home. *****