"So sorry you can't go, dear," she said. "It's just awfully too bad! There's to be a wonderful singer to-day—I can't seem to think of her name; it's one of those long Italian ones—but her clothes are perfect dreams. I'm dying to see her gown. If we get anywhere near Huyler's after the concert I'll bring you some candy. That's one reason I wanted your muff; it holds such oceans. I think maybe we'll get into S. S. Pierce's too. If we do, I'll stock up. My allowance came this morning; I'm feeling particularly opulent."
With a nod and a wave she was off, and Blue Bonnet was left alone. She practised for a while, getting in a little extra time; it was a good chance with so many pianos idle.
She was deep in the intricacies of a sonata when the door of the practice-room opened, and Martha, Miss North's maid, entered.
"There's a gentleman to see you in the reception-room, Miss Ashe," she said. "Miss North says you may see him for fifteen minutes."
"A gentleman! To see me?"
"Yes, Miss Ashe."
"An old gentleman, Martha?"
"No—a young man."
Blue Bonnet looked puzzled.
"That's queer. Where's his card?"