strove fiercely for honours; their ideals were lofty, their courage
clean and high.

So completely absorbed in the pretence did they become that their own
tutors ventured to suggest to Mr. Tappan that such fiercely realistic
mimicry deserved to be rewarded. Unfortunately, the children heard of
this; but the Trust Officer's short answer killed their interest in
playing at happiness, and their junior year began listlessly and
continued without ambition. There was no heart in the pretence. Their
interest had died. They studied mechanically because they were obliged
to; they no longer cared.

That winter they went to a few more parties--not many. However, they
were gingerly permitted to witness their first play, and later, the same
year, were taken to "Lohengrin" at the opera.

During the play, which was a highly moral one, they sat watching,
listening, wide-eyed as children.

At the opera Geraldine's impetuous soul soared straight up to paradise
with the first heavenly strains, and remained there far above the rigid,
breathless little body, bolt upright in its golden sarcophagus of the
grand tier.

Her physical consciousness really seemed to have fled. Until the end she
sat unaware of the throngs, of Scott and Kathleen whispering behind her,
of several tall, broad-shouldered, shy young fellows who came into their
box between the acts and tried to discuss anything at all with her, only
to find her blind, deaf, and dumb.