"Certainly, I have read about it. I gather that it is not always strictly—well, not exactly in the same category with the patriarchs' ball."
"No—not precisely," admits Ashley. "What I was leading up to is this: I suppose I shall be assigned to do the ball for the Hemisphere to-morrow evening—I have done it for the last two years—and a friend of mine kindly presented to me a pocketful of tickets. Now, I know you would enjoy looking in on the brilliant scene for an hour or two in the early part of the evening."
"Why, Mr. Ashley, I really do not see how we could. It would hardly be proper."
"Not perhaps to mingle with the rush, but as a casual looker-on in Verona the propriety could scarcely be questioned. A mask, a box where you could sit and listen to the really good music and watch the glitter and gayety, I believe you would recall the hour whiled away as one of thorough enjoyment. Besides—and here is the selfish part of my proposition—it would render the affair less of an old story to me. You must really say 'yes,'" persists Ashley, as Miss Hathaway hesitates, with the inevitable result.
"Well, if Mr. Felton is willing to pose as a 'chaperon' for a brief space, perhaps I may consent to assist the Hemisphere."
"I assure you that that appreciative journal will be deeply grateful. Where shall I call for your ultimatum?"
"We are stopping at the St. James. And now I must hurry home to examine my purchases. Thank you so much for your kindness, Mr. Ashley. I am so glad to have met you again. Good-by."
"Au revoir—until the morrow," Jack responds, as Miss Hathaway's elegant figure threads its way through the throng. "I wonder what the straight-laced Vermont maiden would say if she could look into the wine-room of the garden about an hour before the French ball makes its last kick. But she won't, though. The first hour or two of the function is as decorous as an afternoon tea on Fifth Avenue—rather more so, I fancy. And now to
