directed to the singers and players on the platform, he could feast his
eyes on her with impunity. In an unoccupied interval, she looked at the
audience--and discovered him.

Had he offended her?

If appearances were to be trusted, he had produced no impression of any
sort. She quietly looked away, towards the other side of the room. The
mere turning of her head was misinterpreted by Ovid as an implied
rebuke. He moved to the row of seats behind her. She was now nearer to
him than she had been yet. He was again content, and more than content.
The next performance was a solo on the piano. A round of applause
welcomed the player. Ovid looked at the platform for the first time. In
the bowing man, with a prematurely bald head and a servile smile, he
recognized Mrs. Gallilee's music-master. The inevitable inference
followed. His mother might be in the room.

After careful examination of the scanty audience, he failed to discover
her--thus far. She would certainly arrive, nevertheless. My money's
worth for my money was a leading principle in Mrs. Gallilee's life.

He sighed as he looked towards the door of entrance. Not for long had
he revelled in the luxury of a new happiness. He had openly avowed his
dislike of concerts, when his mother had made him take a ticket for
this concert. With her quickness of apprehension what might she not
suspect, if she found him among the audience?

Come what might of it, he still kept his place; he still feasted his
eyes on the slim figure of the young girl, on the gentle yet spirited
carriage of her head. But the pleasure was no longer pleasure without