"Good, isn't it?" said Miss Porter to Harvey.

"Splendid," he replied.

"Do you think so?" observed Mr. McNally. "Seems to me Bunge's a little off
to-night. Too much drum. Queer motions, hasn't he?"

Herr Bunge's motions were queer. He was very tall and spare, with an
angular, smooth-shaven face, and with a luxuriant growth of hair that
waved and flopped in the gentle breeze. His long arms were principally
elbow, and they swayed and crooked and jerked as though he were pulling
the music down out of the air. At times when he turned to the belated
second violins, his gaunt profile would appear in silhouette against a
glare of electric light.

"Do you know," said McNally, fingering his programme, "Bunge ought to
stick to this kind of stuff. Last week I heard him play some of the Queen
Mab music, and it was wilful slaughter. Poor old Berlioz would have sobbed
aloud if he had heard it."

Harvey felt awkward. He could not follow McNally's comments, and it
humiliated him. Miss Porter was quick to observe his silence, and
endeavored to draw him into the conversation, while Mr. McNally seemed
determined to hold the reins. There was some good-natured fencing, then
Mr. Porter rose.

"You'll excuse us, Mr. West," he said pleasantly. "We have an engagement
for the latter part of the evening."

"Yes," added his daughter, "we promised to go out to Edgewater--the Saddle