Gliding through the crowd, she threaded about aimlessly, the
recipient of many stares though but few greetings, speaking with
no one, a certain dignity serving her as a barrier even here. She
stopped a waiter and questioned him.

"He's up-stairs in a gallery box."

"Alone?"

"Yes'm. Anyhow, he was a minute ago, unless some of the rustlers
has broke in on him."

A moment later Glenister, watching the scene below, was aroused
from his gloomy absorption by the click of the box door and the
rustle of silken skirts.

"Go out, please," he said, without turning. "I don't want
company." Hearing no answer, he began again, "I came here to be
alone"--but there he ceased, for the girl had come forward and
laid her two hot hands upon his cheeks.

"Boy," she breathed--and he arose swiftly.

"Cherry! When did you come?"

"Oh, DAYS ago," she said, impatiently, "from Dawson. They told me
you had struck it. I stood it as long as I could--then I came to
you. Now, tell me about yourself. Let me see you first, quick!"