Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. Wild is a friend of yours, I'm sorry for what I said. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. "You want me, then?" she said. He opened his eyes, protestingly, and beheld the realization of his dream. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights.
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