"No—ten thousand times, no—I shall love to see it."
"What dress will you go in?"
"I think my black, and put a rose in my hair."
"That will do very well. The black becomes you. I think you could not do better."
Betty was highly delighted. She had been to plays, never to a real opera.
In the evening, dinner was early, unnecessarily early, and Betty knew that it would not take her long to dress, so she went into the little conservatory and seated herself there. The scent of the heliotropes was strong. Betty called them cherry-pie. She had got the libretto, and she looked it over; but as she looked, her eyes closed, and without being aware that she was going to sleep, in a moment she was completely unconscious.
She woke, feeling stiff and cold.
"Goodness!" said she, "I hope I am not late. Why—what is that light?"
The glimmer of dawn shone in at the conservatory windows.
Much astonished, she left it. The hall, the staircase were dark. She groped her way to her room, and switched on the electric light.