Abner,"--but Mr. Spragg's brow remained unrelenting.

"Do you know what a box costs?"

"No; but I s'pose you do," Undine returned with unconscious flippancy.

"I do. That's the trouble. WHY won't seats do you?"

"Mabel could buy seats for herself."

"That's so," interpolated Mrs. Spragg--always the first to succumb to
her daughter's arguments.

"Well, I guess I can't buy a box for her."

Undine's face gloomed more deeply. She sat silent, her chocolate
thickening in the cup, while one hand, almost as much beringed as her
mother's, drummed on the crumpled table-cloth.

"We might as well go straight back to Apex," she breathed at last
between her teeth.

Mrs. Spragg cast a frightened glance at her husband. These struggles
between two resolute wills always brought on her palpitations, and she
wished she had her phial of digitalis with her.

"A parterre box costs a hundred and twenty-five dollars a night," said
Mr. Spragg, transferring a toothpick to his waistcoat pocket.

"I only want it once."