When Mr. Brad came back from his vacation his manner had somewhat changed.  He had the air of a person who stands on firm ground.  He felt that he was a personage.  He betrayed this in a certain deliberation of speech, as if any remark from him now might be important.  In a way he felt himself related to public affairs.

In short, he had exchanged the curiosity of the reporter for the omniscience of the editor.  And for a time Philip was restrained from intruding the subject of the Mavick sensation.  However, one day after dinner he ventured: 

“I see, Mr. Brad, that your hit still attracts attention.”  Mr. Brad looked inquiringly blank.

I mean about the millionaire heiress.  It has excited a wide interest.”

“Ah, that!  Yes, it gave me a chance,” replied Brad, who was thinking only of himself.

“I’ve had several letters about it from the country.”

“Yes?  Well, I suppose,” said Brad, modestly, “that a little country notoriety doesn’t hurt a person.”

Philip did not tell his interlocutor that, so far as he knew, nobody in the country had ever heard the name of Olin Brad, or knew there was such a person in existence.  But he went on: 

“Certainly.  And, besides, there is a great curiosity to know about the girl.  Did you ever see her?”

“Only in public.  I don’t know Mavick personally, and for reasons,” and Mr. Brad laughed in a superior manner.  “It’s easy enough to see her.”

“How?”

“Watch out for a Wagner night, and go to the opera.  You’ll see where Mavick’s box is in the bill.  She is pretty sure to be there, and her mother.  There is nothing special about her; but her mother is still a very fascinating woman, I can tell you.  You’ll find her sure on a ‘Carmen’ night, but not so sure of the girl.”

On this suggestion Philip promptly acted.  The extra expense of an orchestra seat he put down to his duty to keep his family informed of anything that interested them in the city.  It was a “Siegfried” night, and a full house.  To describe it all would be very interesting to Alice.  The Mavick box was empty until the overture was half through.  Then appeared a gentleman who looked as if he were performing a public duty, a lady who looked as if she were receiving a public welcome, and seated between them a dark, slender girl, who looked as if she did not see the public at all, but only the orchestra.

Behind them, in the shadow, a middle-aged woman in plainer attire.  It must be the Scotch governess.  Mrs. Mavick had her eyes everywhere about the house, and was graciously bowing to her friends.  Mr. Mavick coolly and unsympathetically regarded the house, quite conscious of it, but as if he were a little bored.  You could not see him without being aware that he was thinking of other things, probably of far-reaching schemes.  People always used to say of Mavick, when he was young and a clerk in a Washington