Lucy felt a finger tap her on the bra strap as she observed Michelle chatting with yet another passing group of people. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale. When she spoke, her lips twitched.
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