seamstress of the human species, but was made by fairies out of woven moonlight, star dust, afterglow, and the fragrance of flowers.  Such a gown upon a lovely woman is man’s proof that woman is indeed the thing which so often he believes her—­that she is more goddess than earthly being; for man knows well that he himself is earthly, and that a costume made from such dream stuffs and placed on him, would not last out the hour.  He has but to look up at the stars to realize the infinity of space, and, similarly, but to look at her in her evening gown to realize the divinity of woman.

And that is where she has him.  For it isn’t so!

At last came the train—­just the dingy train to stop at such a station.  I boarded it, found a seat, and continued to dream dreams as we rattled on toward Washington.

Even when I found myself walking through that great terminal by which all railroads enter the capital, I hardly believed that I was there, nor did I feel entirely myself until I had reached my room in the New Willard.

Having started my bath, I went and knocked upon the door of the near-by room where the clerk had told me I should find my fellow traveler.

“Oh,” he said, without enthusiasm as he discovered me.  “You’re here, are you?”

He looked imposing and severe in his evening dress.  I felt correspondingly dirty and humble.

“Yes,” I replied meekly.  “Any news?”

“None,” he replied.  “I’ve reserved a table at Harvey’s.  They dance there.  At first they said there was not a table to be had—­Saturday night, you know—­but I told them who was to be with us, and they changed their minds.”

“Good.  I’ll be dressed in a little while.  Silk hats?”

He nodded.  I returned to my own room.

Less than an hour later, my toilet completed, I rejoined him, and together we descended, in full regalia, to the lobby.

“Shall we take a taxi?” he suggested, as we passed out of the side entrance.

“How far away is the theater?”

“I don’t know.”

We asked the carriage starter.  He said it was only two or three blocks.

“Let’s walk,” I said.

“I don’t feel like walking,” he returned.

We rode.

The theater was just emptying when we arrived.

“I suppose we’d better let the cab go?” I said.  “There’ll be quite a while to wait while she’s changing.”

“Better keep it,” he disagreed.  “Might not find another.”

We kept it.

At the stage door there was confusion.  Having completed its week in Washington, the play was about to move elsewhere, and furniture was already coming out into the narrow passage, and being piled up to be taken on wagons to the train.  It took us some time to find the doorman, and it took the doorman—­as it always does take doormen—­a long, long time to depart into the unknown region of dressing rooms, with the cards we gave him, and a still longer time to return.