"And I don't think it is a very sweet thing to invite a girl to a
concert, and then get up a fight," said Alexia, back at him.

"Goodness--who's fighting?" exclaimed Pickering under his brealn.

"You are--I wish you could see your face; it's as black as a thunder
cloud," said Alexia, with the consciousness that her own was as calm as
a June morning. "And I'm sure if you don't want to attract people to our
conversation, you might at least look a little pleasanter."

Pickering threw two or three nervous glances on either side, to prove
her words, and was by no means reassured to see the countenance of Billy
Harlow, one of his young business friends, across the aisle, suffused
with an attempt to appear as if he hadn't been a witness to the little
by-play.

"Well, I'm morally certain I won't trouble you with another invitation
to a concert," he said, too furious to quite know his own words.

"You needn't," said Alexia, swinging her fan with an even hand, and
still smiling sweetly, this time including in it Billy, who had no girl
with him. "I really could endure life at home better than this bliss."
And then D'Albert came on the stage, and it was the proper thing to keep
quiet, so the hostilities died down.

Going out of the Opera House, Billy Harlow ran up to the two. "Lovely
time you've had," he said on Alexia's side, and with a little grimace.

"Haven't I?" said Alexia back again, with the air of a martyr. Pickering
stalking along by her side, had the air of a man who didn't care what