“All right,” called back Dorothy.
It didn’t take the girls long to get dressed, and when they were finished they appeared in the sitting room. Both Jim and Aunt Betty declared that there weren’t two finer girls in all New York City. And Jim added under his breath, “In all the world,” thinking only of Dorothy then.
Down they went for dinner, and so anxious were they that they should not be late that the meal was passed over as quickly and quietly as possible.
They had just reached their rooms when Mr. Ludlow was announced, and gathering up their wraps and long white gloves—for Alfy thought more of these white gloves than anything else she owned just then—they went forth to meet Mr. Ludlow.
“Well, well,” said Mr. Ludlow, who was standing beside Ruth in the lobby, “all here and all ready. I do wish you would set the same example of promptness for Ruth. She is always, always late.”
“Well,” replied Ruth, “somehow I always try but just can’t seem to get dressed in time. I didn’t keep you waiting very long to-day, did I?”
“Well, dear, that is because I said that the longer you kept me waiting, the less you could have for dinner,” laughed Mr. Ludlow.
“Maybe that is why, because I do get so tired of boarding house meals,” rejoined Ruth, and, turning to Dorothy, “Come dear, the auto is all ready and we are not so very early.”
The others followed them and soon they reached the Metropolitan Opera House, and after passing through the crowded lobby, entered the foyer. It was quite dark, and very quietly they followed Mr. Ludlow, whose box was on the right hand side, well toward the stage.
They were presently all seated, but before they had time to talk or look around much the music began. And such music. Dorothy was oblivious to all else as she followed the score. For memory’s convenience she wrote out the plot of the opera, the next day, and here is a copy from her diary: