As we passed up the aisle I felt a sudden tug, then an ominous ripping.  The floating chiffon overdrapery of my gown had caught in a seat.  As Dicky bent to release me his face showed consternation.  Almost a length of the dainty fabric trailed on the floor.

I have schooled my self-repression for many a weary year.  I feared my gown, in which I had taken such pride, was ruined, but I would not let any one know I cared about it.  I gathered it up and smiled at Dicky.

“It really doesn’t matter,” I said.  “If you’ll leave me at the woman’s dressing room I think I can fix it up all right.”

Dicky drew a relieved breath.  His heartily murmured, “You’re a thoroughbred for sure, Madge,” rewarded me for my composure.  I was just woman enough also to be comforted by the whispered comments of two women who sat just behind the seat which caused the mischief.

“Isn’t that a shame—­that exquisite gown?” and the rejoinder.  “But isn’t she game?  I couldn’t smile like that—­I’d be crying my eyes out”

Dicky left me at the door of the dressing room, pressing a coin slyly into my hand.  “You’ll tip the maid,” he explained, and I blessed him for his thoughtfulness.  I had been too absorbed in my gown to think of anything else.

An obsequious maid provided me with needle, thimble and thread.  She offered to mend the tear for me, but I had a horror of being made conspicuous by her ministrations.

“If you’ll let me have a chair in a corner I shall do very nicely,” I told her, and was at once snugly ensconced near one of her mirrors behind the very comfortable rampart of an enormously fat woman in an exaggerated evening gown, who was devoting much pains and cosmetics to her complexion.  She looked as if she intended to remain at the particular mirror all the intermission.  I hoped she would stay there, in spite the dagger’s looks she was receiving from other complexion repairers who coveted her place, for she was an effectual shield from curious eyes.

To my joy I found that the gown was not ruined, and that it could be repaired without much expense or trouble.  Even the temporary mending I was doing disguised the break.  I was so interested in the mending that I was completely lost to my surroundings, but the sound of a familiar name brought me to with a jerk.

“Did you see the Dicky-bird and his marble bride?” A high-pitched yet rather sweet voice asked the question, and a deep contralto answered it.

“Yes, indeed, and I saw the way Lillian Gale was rushing them.  For my part I don’t think that’s quite clubby of Lil.  Of course she’s got into the way of thinking she has a first mortgage on the Dicky-bird, but she might give that beautiful bride a chance for her life before she forecloses.”

“What’s the secret of Lil’s attraction for Dicky Graham, anyway?” the soprano voice queried.  “She’s a good seven years older than he is, and both her past and her youth are rather frayed at the edges, you know.”