Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. But she made no answer. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. “Ye Gods!” she said at last. He filled her glass with champagne.
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