enough upon the stage, or in the green-room;
but she never carried her dignity beyond the
precincts of the Opera House. She put it on with
her rouge, and left it in her dressing-room with
the rest of her theatrical wardrobe, when the
evening's work was over. She laughed at everything
that was said, whether she understood it
or not; and she was delighted with everything
—with the drive, with the horses, with the mail
phaeton, with the weather, with the dinner, with
the guests, and with her host; and when the ice
was brought to table—a magnificent, many-
coloured triumph of art—she clapped her hands,
like a child at sight of a twelfth-cake.

"Now's the time for the bracelet, Saxon,"
whispered Lord Castletowers, when the wreck
of this triumph was removed, and the side-cloths
were rolled away for dessert.

Saxon looked aghast.

"What shall I say?" said he.

"Oh, I don't know—something graceful, and
not too long."

"But I can't. I haven't an idea,"

"Never mind; she wouldn't understand it if
you had. Say anything."

"Can't you say it for me?"

"Impossible, my dear fellow! You might as
well ask me to kiss her for you."

Which was such a tremendous supposition,
that Saxon blushed scarlet, and had not a word
to say in reply.

"Ah, traditor! Why do you speak secrets?"
said the prima donna, with a pout.

"Because he is a conspirator," replied the Earl.

"A conspirator? Cielo!"

"It is quite true," said Burgoyne, promptly.
"There's a deadly mine of cracker bonbons in
the room below, and Trefalden's presently going
to say something so sparkling that it will fire
the train, and we shall all be blown into the
middle of the next century."

The prima donna sang a roulade expressive of
terror.

"The worst is yet to come. This plot, signora,
is entirely against yourself," said Castletowers.
Then, dropping his voice, "Out with it, man," he
added. " You couldn't have a better opening."

Saxon pulled the morocco-case out of his
pocket, and presented it with as much confusion
and incoherence as if it had been a
warrant.

The signora screamed with rapture, invoked
her brother and sisters, flew to the window with
her treasure, flashed it to and fro in every possible
light, and for the first five minutes could talk
nothing but her native patois.

"But, signore, you must be a great prince!"
she exclaimed, when, at length, she returned to
her place at the dinner-table.

"Indeed I am nothing of the sort," replied
Saxon, laughing.

"E bellissimo, questo braccioletto! But why
do you give him to me?"

"From no other reason than my desire to
please you, bella donna," replied Saxon. "The
Greeks believed that the opal had power to
confer popularity on its wearer; but I do not
offer you these opals with any such motive.
Your talisman is your voice."

"Bravo, Trefaldon!" laughed the "Earl. "That
was well said. Comme l'esprit vient aux fils!"

"A neat thing spoilt," muttered Greatorex, to
his next neighbour. "He should have praised
her eyes. She knows all about her voice."

"And do you suppose she doesn't know all
about her eyes, too?" asked his neighbour,
who chanced to be Major Vaughan.

"No doubt; but then a woman is never tired
of being admired for her beauty. The smallest
pastille of praise is as acceptable to her, in its
way, as a holocaust of incense. But as to her
voice, c'est autre chose. What is one compliment
more or less after the nightly applauses of
the finest audience in Europe?"

In the mean while, the two young Erectheum
men, oppressed, apparently, by the consciousness
of how much they owed to their boots and waistcoats,
took refuge in each other's society, and
talked about a horse. Neither of them kept
a horse, nor hoped to keep a horse; yet the
subject seemed bound up, in some occult way,
with the inner consciousness of both. They
discussed this mysterious animal in solemn whispers
all the way down from London to Richmond;
alluded to him despondingly during dinner; and
exchanged bets upon him in a moody and portentous
manner at dessert. Apart from this
overwhelming topic, they were light-hearted
young fellows enough; but the horse was their
Nemesis, and rode them down continually.

As for the " tail," it went to work as vigorously
upon the dessert as upon the twelve preceding
courses. The plump sisters evidently looked
upon Moët as pure Pierian, and had taken Pope's
advice to heart; while the gloomy brother, inaccessible
as Fort Gibraltar, seemed only intent on
provisioning himself against a long blockade.
But even the best of dinners must end, and
coffee came at last. Then one of the Erectheum
young men, emboldened by sparkling drinks,
asked the prima donna for a song. She laughed,
and shook her head; but the assembled company
looked aghast.

"I cannot," said she. " My voice is a bird in one
little cage, and my impressario guards the key."

Sir Charles Burgoyne darted a dreadful glance
at the offender.

"My dear lady," he said, "pray do not say a
word. We all ought to know that your operatic
contract forbids anything of the kind; and even
if it were not so, we should not presume to ask
so great a favour. It is a great mistake on the
part of this young gentleman."

"I—I am very sorry," stammered the unlucky
neophyte.

"Aud I am sorry," said the songstress, good
naturedly. " I should sing for you if I dared."

"Thou must not think of it, sorellina," interposed
her brother, in his rapid Neapolitan.
"Remember the penalty."