from the fact of being singled out for
this distinction, it caused her very great annoyance.
Out of the theatre she did not see much
of him. The promises he had made in the
summer of coming to play for Mr. Earnshaw
remained unfulfilled. He was so constantly
occupied, he said, with preparations for his concert,
and with hard practice; and John Earnshaw
and his wife accepted these excuses as being
perfectly natural and indeed inevitable. But
there were several people in Dublin—the
Honourable Arthur Skidley and Walter Charlewood
among others—who could have accounted
for a great many hours of Alfred Trescott's time,
that were certainly neither devoted to study nor
passed in attendance on Lady Popham.

Young Trescott, however, did call at Mrs.
Walton's residence late in the afternoon of the
day on which it had been decided in Merrion-
square that Signor Carlo Bensa should be
applied to, to conduct the concert. Alfred had told
Lady Popham that he was acquainted with
Signor Bensa, and would deliver the note to
him. But, in truth, he did not accurately
know Bensa's address, and had come to Mrs.
Walton's house with the double purpose of
obtaining the direction and of presenting himself
in the character of patron, by skilfully conveying
to the family the impression that it was
owing to his suggestion that this piece of
professional employment had been, thrown in
Bensa's way.

As Alfred approached the house in the half-built
square where Mrs. Walton lived, he heard
the clear penetrating tones of a silvery soprano
voice ringing through the slightly-built dwelling,
and on being shown into the sitting-room, found
Carlo Bensa seated at the pianoforte, with
Corda standing by his side, and singing a slow
scale to his accompaniment. Mrs. Walton and
her husband were listening with pleased faces,
and Madame Bensa, seated on a low stool by
the fire, was pretending to hush down her
good-humoured crowing baby, who, holding on by its
mother's forefinger, was displaying a pair of
very plump mottled legs, partly clad in knitted
woollen socks, and perseveringly executing a
series of pawing steps with one foot, apparently
under the impression that that was the ordinary
method of locomotion.

"Oh, Alf dear!" cried Corda, when her
brother opened the door. "Oh, Alf!" There
was something affecting in the half-timid
wholly loving action of the child as she ran up
to her brother and took his hand. Alfred was
by no means pleased to find her there at that
moment, and his first impulse was to push her
away impatiently; but, recollecting himself, he
changed the movement into a sort of caress,
and tapped Corda lightly on the shoulder.

"Signor Bensa," said he, after saluting the
others, "you're the very man I wanted to see."

"Ah?" returned the Italian, with an
interrogatory raising of his eyebrows and a slight
inclination of his head.

"Yes; I came here, in fact, partly to inquire
your address. I—I have a note for you."

Alfred found the performance of his new
character of patron a little more difficult in
practice than in theory. The very simplicity
and unobtrusiveness that characterised the
whole family made it difficult. However, he
was not easily made bashful or embarrassed,
and he put Lady Popham's note into Bensa's
hands with a flourish.

"I told my lady that I would undertake to
deliver it myself. My lady asked me to give
you a message, but I thought it better that she
should write. I mentioned to my lady that I
thought you were the very man for her
purpose."

Carlo Bensa read and understood English
very well, but Lady Popham's cramped
handwriting and peculiar orthography puzzled him.
He handed the perfumed note to his wife, who,
cutting short baby at the culminating moment
when she had just made the discovery that the
art of walking was performed by the alternate
movement of both legs, and not by the persistent
and consecutive pawings of one, whipped
that sweetest-tempered of infants in a highly
undignified bundle into her lap, and began to
read attentively.

"Wants you to go to Merrion-square at two
o'clock to-morrow, Charles. All very polite
and civil. Can you manage it, dear?"

"Oh, certainly," said Bensa, after a little
thought. " At two? Yes; I can go to miladi
Popham at two." And the little man referred
for a moment to a well-worn leather-bound
note-book, containing the list of his engagements.

"You may see a former pupil of yours there,"
said Alfred, feeling that it might be well to
mention it beforehand—"a Miss O'Brien."

"Meess O'Brien? Davvero? Yes. A very
amiable young lady; but for singing——!"

The Italian made an indescribable gesture
expressive of deep dejection, such as a Briton
might have thought appropriate for the
announcement of some dire misfortune; the death
of a dear and valued friend, for instance.

"Ah, indeed!" rejoined Alfred, coolly.
"Well, she is a charming girl, Signor Bensa,
and a great——," he hesitated for a word, and
finally brought out, "friend of yours. She
agreed the moment I mentioned your name, and
we persuaded Lady Popham to entrust the
management of the affair to you. It's about
my concert, you know."

"Ah, ah?" said Bensa, receiving the
announcement with more self-possession than
young Trescott could have desired. "Yes, ah,
yes. We shall see, we shall see." And he
made a memorandum of the appointment in his
note-book.

"My dear Trescott," said Mr. Earnshaw,
turning his sightless face in Alfred's direction,
"we have been having a great deal of pleasure.
Really a great deal. Charles has been trying
Corda's voice, and speaks so highly of it. He
says she ought to begin to study regularly at
once."

"Umph!" said Alfred, rather sulkily, "I