be rendered, and Van Berg threw away his half-burned cigar, settled
himself in his chair and glanced around with a congratulatory air,
as if to say, "Now we are to have one of those pleasures which
fills the cup of life to overflowing."

Oh, that casual glance! It was one of those things that we might
justly call "little." Could anything have been more trivial,
slight, and apparently inconsequential than this half involuntary
act? Indeed it was too aimless even to have been prompted by a
conscious effort of the will. But this book is one of the least
results of that momentary sweep of the eye. Another was, that Van
Berg did not enjoy the symphony at all, and was soon in a very bad
humor. That casual glance had revealed, not far away, a face that
with his passion for beauty, at once riveted his attention. His
slight start and faint exclamation, caused Ik Stanton to look around
also, and then, with a mischievous and observant twinkle in his
eyes, the bon vivant resumed his cigar, which no symphony could
exorcise from his mouth.

At a table just within the main audience room, there sat a young
lady and gentleman. Even Van berg, who made it his business to
discover and study beauty, was soon compelled to admit to himself
that he had never seen finer features than were possessed by this
fair young stranger. Her nose was straight, her upper lip was
short, and might have been modelled from Cupid's bow; her chin did
not form a perfect oval after the cold and severe Grecian type, but
was slightly firm and prominent, receding with decided yet exquisite
curves to the full white throat. Her cheeks had a transparent
fairness, in which the color came and went instead of lingering
in any conventional place and manner; her hair was too light to be