Contrary to the usual custom of woman, Isabel was ready fully an hour
before the appointed time. She stood before the fire, buttoning a new
glove with the sense of abundant leisure that new gloves demand. The
dancing flames picked out flashes of light from the silver spangles of
her gown and sent them into the farthest corners of the room. A long
white plume nestled against her dark hair and shaded her face from the
light, but, even in the shadow, she was brilliant, for her eyes sparkled
and the high colour bloomed upon her cheeks.

Madame Bernard and Rose sat near by, openly admiring her. She was almost
childish in her delight at the immediate prospect and could scarcely
wait for Allison to call for her. She went to the window and peered
eagerly into the darkness, waiting.

"Isabel, my dear," said Madame, kindly, "never wait at the window for an
unmarried man. Nor," she added as an afterthought, "for a married man,
unless he happens to be your own husband."

Isabel turned back into the room, smiling, her colour a little brighter
than before. "Why not?"

"Men keep best," returned Madame, somewhat enigmatically, "in a cool,
dry atmosphere. If you'll remember that fact, it may save you trouble in
the years to come."

"Such worldly wisdom," laughed Rose, "from such an unworldly woman!"

"I do love the theatre," Isabel sighed, "and I haven't seen a play for a
long time."