“I’d be delighted, only,”—­Jimmie paused, flushing and looking intently inside his hat—­“the fact is, I am going to take the Society Editor on my paper.  We have miserable seats, the first row in the orchestra was the best they could do for us, and she has to write up the gowns.  She’s an awfully nice girl, and she has a little trick of keeping her copy out of sight, so the people in the house never would catch on; would you think me very bold,”—­and with this he looked up directly at Annabel—­“if I asked you to give that place in your box to her?”

He was graciously assured it would make Mr. Banks “easy” if they both joined the party, and Annabel suggested that he bring the Society Editor to dinner, “so as to get acquainted” before the opera.  All of which was speedily arranged by telephone.  Miss Atkins accepted with pleasure.

The dinner was a complete success; so complete that the orchestra was concluding the overture when they arrived at the theater.  A little flurry ran through the body of the house when Annabel appeared.  Mrs. Feversham in the opposite box raised her lorgnette.

“I wonder who they are,” she said.  “Why, the girl in white looks like Miss Atkins, who writes the society news, and there is your reporter, Daniels.”

“Other man is Lucky Banks; stunning woman in pink must be his wife.”  Frederic, having settled in his chair and eased his lame knee, focussed his own glasses.

“George, Marcia,” he exclaimed, “do you see that necklace?  Nuggets, straight from the sluices of the Annabel, I bet.  Nuggets strung with emeralds, and each as big as they grow.  I suppose that chain is what you call barbarous, but I rather like it.”

“It is fit for a queen,” admitted Marcia.  “One of those barbarian queens we read about.  No ordinary woman could wear it, but it seems made for her throat.”  And she added, dropping her lorgnette to turn her calculating glance on her brother’s face, “Every woman her price.”

Frederic laughed shortly.  The purplish flush deepened in his cheeks, and his eyes rested on Beatriz Weatherbee.  She was seated in the front of the box with Elizabeth, and as she leaned forward a little, stirred by the passionate cry of the violins, her profile was turned to him.

“The price doesn’t cut as much figure as you think,” he said.

Then the curtain rose.  Tarquina was a marvelous Carmen.  The Society Editor, who had taken her notebook surreptitiously from a silk evening bag and, under cover of a chiffon scarf, commenced to record the names and gowns of important personages, got no farther than the party in the opposite box during the first act.  But she made amends in the intermission.  It was then a smile suddenly softened her firm mouth, and she introduced Annabel to her columns with this item.

“Noticeable among the out of town guests were Mr. and Mrs. John Henry Banks, who entertained a box party, following a charming dinner at the New Washington.  Mrs. Banks, a recent bride, was handsomely gowned in pink chiffon over messaline, and wore a unique necklace of nuggets which were gathered from her husband’s mine near Iditarod, Alaska.  The gold pieces were linked lengthwise, alternating with single emeralds, and the pendant was formed of three slender nuggets, each terminating in a matched diamond and emerald.”