induce him to work hard, and confirm it," was
Janet's practical remark. Jack averred that
his prediction that Alfred Trescott would be
playing a violin solo at the Philharmonic,
in London, before long, would infallibly be
fulfilled. Mabel said nothing. She did not
like to seem churlishly incredulous as to young
Trescott's success, but she could not overcome
a secret conviction that there was something
hollow and unstable about it all. "You don't
seem quite converted to the Trescott worship,
Mabel," said her cousin Janet, when the two
girls were alone together in their bedroom.

"Oh, I think he is very clever, and plays
very beautifully, but I fancy—of course I speak
diffidently, because I am no judge—I fancy that
he would have to work a great deal harder and
more steadily before taking a really first-rate
position. And I am afraid he hasn't much power
of hard work in him. Poor little Corda, who
idolizes her brother, feels that, child as she is."

"No," said Janet, dryly; "you see hard
work is not pleasant in itself. The results of it are
pleasant, undoubtedly. But to shut oneself up
to dry solitary labour for five or six hours a
day, without any admiring audience to cheer
one, is a very tiresome and disagreeable thing.
And if one could do without—"

"But can one do without, Janet?"

"I believe one cannot be a first-rate fiddler
without," said Janet, "any more than one can
buy a new twopenny loaf for a penny."

Meanwhile, however, Alfred Trescott was
basking with great enjoyment in the sunshine
of Lady Popham's flattering praises. He had
been twice or thrice to Cloncoolin since the
occasion of the first soirée there, at which he
had made so favourable an impression, and had
played the enthusiastic romantic artist to the
height of her ladyship's utmost expectation.
It was all vastly delightful. The rich furniture,
the lofty rooms, the noble park, the train of
bowing servants, were charms which Alfred
Trescott was thoroughly able to appreciate and
to enjoy. To be praised was in itself a great
pleasure, but to be praised by rich titled people,
dressed in gorgeous robes and seated on velvet
and satin, enhanced the sweetness of the praise
ten thousand-fold. Nor was it the slightest
drawback to Alfred Trescott's satisfaction that
he had an intimate conviction that nine-tenths
of his admirers were profoundly incompetent to
judge his playing, and that he felt a secret
mocking contempt for their ignorance.

In speaking to his patroness about Mabel, he
had in truth been warm, almost lover-like, in his
praises. During the time at Kilclare, they had
been thrown more frequently and intimately
into each other's society than had ever been the
case before; and Alfred Trescott had not been
slow to feel the charm of Mabel's refinement
and fresh girlish beauty, and he had given
himself up to the enjoyment of her society, until
this first feeling had grown into as strong a
passion as his nature was capable of. The idea
of combating or controlling any strong desire
of his own was one totally foreign to the
young man's character; and, in the thought of
winning Mabel Earnshaw, there was much that
appealed to his worst traits, as well as to
whatsoever spark of real love she had inspired him
with. Setting aside the selfish gratification of
his passion—the having that which he desired
(always a paramount object with Alfred Trescott)
—his vanity and his malice would be alike
gratified by such a consummation. Mabel was
a lady born and bred; possessing talents and
qualities that could not fail to procure for her a
foremost place in her profession; superior by her
manners and education to any woman with
whom young Trescott had hitherto been on
terms of familiar acquaintanceship. So far
vanity. And then Alfred had heard from
Walter Charlewood a good deal, and divined by
his own sharp cunning still more, of Clement's
attachment to Miss Earnshaw. I have said that
Alfred Trescott hated Clement Charlewood.
He hated him because he was wealthy, because
he was industrious, because he had been enabled
by circumstances to confer upon Mr. Trescott and
Corda some pecuniary benefits—which Alfred
accepted as a debt, and yet resented as an
insult—and partly also because he erroneously
attributed to the rich Hammerham contractor
something of that contempt for the Trescotts'
poverty and profession which he himself would
have felt in Clement's circumstances. If young
Charlewood really loved Mabel, so much the
greater would be the glory aud the gratification
of carrying her off.

Altogether, when Lady Popham spoke to him
of the charming Ophelia, he was already well
prepared to assume a love-lorn aspect for the
old gentlewoman's behoof. And finding that
the assumption of such aspect gave him an
additional interest in the eyes of his patroness,
and that she enjoyed the romance of a love-
story between her two new protégés with
infinite zest, he had no scruple in indulging her
fancy to the utmost extent.

With Mabel herself he could not flatter
himself that he had hitherto made any progress.
"She's as proud as the deuce," said Alfred,
"and keeps a fellow at an awful distance."
Nevertheless, he by no means despaired.
Although he was able to appreciate Mabel's
artistic merits, and even the refinement and
intelligence of her mind, it was not in the nature
of things that he should do justice to her
noblest qualities. A life guided and swayed
by considerations of duty was incomprehensible
and, indeed, incredible to him. "She'll do
what she likes best, as far as she can, I suppose.
Everybody does. And I don't see why she
shouldn't like me best when she finds I am
rising in the world."

Such was Alfred Trescott's creed about the
matter.

Lady Popham had set her heart on flaunting
in the eyes of the world the jewel she had
discovered. Her ardour was scarcely at all
quenched by the many failures she had
encountered in her pursuit of a "genius," and
she resolved to introduce her new protégé first to
the musical public of Dublin, and then in the
following London season to take him to town.