“Is he handsome?” demanded Nancy.
“Very, I think.”
“Does he own a palace?” asked Mary.
“No, not a palace,” answered Maria smiling. “He’s counted poor as the world goes here, I believe. But he has an old place in Ireland somewhere he’s very proud of. However, his title and his ruined castle are only a small part of him. He is really a very fine man. He has asked me to visit his place in Ireland, and I do hope he will come to the box to-night, because I have concocted a wonderful scheme; and if it turns out as I wish, it will concern all of you. But here we are at the theater.”
The four girls were not very intimate with grand opera. On one memorable occasion a company of great singers had given one performance in West Haven. “Lohengrin” was the opera, and as luck would have it, “Lohengrin” was the opera to-night. Many people smiled up at their eager faces looking down from the box, half awed, half bewildered at the brilliant audience. Miss Campbell and Maria sat in the back talking together.
It was very much like a dream:—tier after tier of private boxes were filled with parties of men and women, all very handsome and very beautifully dressed; the air hummed with conversation, like a bee-hive; from the pit, which seemed a great distance away, an occasional laugh floated up through the haze of talk; and through all sounded the noise of many instruments “tuning up.”
Suddenly a slender, nervous-looking man emerged from somewhere underneath the stage and walked over to the leader’s stand in front of the orchestra. Immediately the entire audience burst into applause. The leader bowed, seized his bâton, the lights went down, a hush fell over the place, and the overture began.
“The leader’s bâton has a light in it like a fairy’s wand,” exclaimed Mary, forgetting where she was.
Maria smiled and touched the young girl’s cheek lightly with one finger.
“Lots of people think it is a fairy’s wand,” she whispered.