was taught years ago, of course with variations of his own. Then he
turned round on the music-stool with the oddest smile I ever saw,
and said, "Do you know that air, Mrs. O'Reilly?"

"'Yes," I said; "but I forget now what it is.'"

"'It was composed by Pestal, one of the victims of Russian tyranny,"
said he. "The executioner did his work badly, and Pestal had to be
strung up twice. In the interval he was heard to mutter, 'Stupid
country, where they don't even know how to hang!'"

"Then he gave a little forced laugh, got up quickly, wished me good-
bye, and was gone before I could put in a word."

"What a horrible story to tell in a drawing-room!" said Lena
Houghton. "I envy Gertrude less than ever."

"Poor girl! What a sad prospect it is for her!" said Mrs. O'Reilly
with a sigh. "Of course, my dear, you'll not repeat what I have
just told you."

"Not for the world!" said Lena Houghton emphatically. "It is
perfectly safe with me."

The conversation was here abruptly ended, for the page threw open
the drawing-room door and announced 'Mr. Zaluski.'

"Talk of the angel," murmured Mrs. O'Reilly with a significant smile
at her companion. Then skilfully altering the expression of her
face, she beamed graciously on the guest who was ushered into the