"All--your--wonderful words
Thrill me through--"

The violins swelled and quavered on the last notes, the girl sank to a
crumpled butterfly on the stage, a great burst of clapping filled the
house. Oh, to fall in love like that, to the languorous magic melody of
such a tune!

The last scene was laid on a roof-garden, and the 'cellos sighed to the
musical moon, while light adventure and facile froth-like comedy flitted
back and forth in the calcium. Amory was on fire to be an habitui of
roof-gardens, to meet a girl who should look like that--better, that very
girl; whose hair would be drenched with golden moonlight, while at his
elbow sparkling wine was poured by an unintelligible waiter. When the
curtain fell for the last time he gave such a long sigh that the people
in front of him twisted around and stared and said loud enough for him to
hear:

"What a _remarkable_-looking boy!"

This took his mind off the play, and he wondered if he really did seem
handsome to the population of New York.

Paskert and he walked in silence toward their hotel. The former was
the first to speak. His uncertain fifteen-year-old voice broke in in a
melancholy strain on Amory's musings:

"I'd marry that girl to-night."