"I told him something. I told him that if it was going to be any story
about--about something I shouldn't like, I should simply follow it with a
story about him that he wouldn't like."

"Ethel! You darling!"

"Oh, yes, and I said I was sure you would all listen, even though I was
not an author myself. And I have it ready, you know, and it's awfully
like Richard, only a different side of him from the burglar one."

"But, my dear, what did he do when you--"

This enquiry was, however, cut short by the entrance of the men. And from
the glance that came from Richard's eyes as they immediately sought out
his wife, Mrs. Davenport knew that he could not have done anything very
severe to Ethel when she made that threat to him during their drive.

Richard at once made his way to the easy-chair arranged each night in a
good position for the narrator of the evening, and baptised "The
Singstool" by Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves was an ardent Wagnerian, and
especially devoted to The Mastersingers of Nuremberg.

"Shall we have," he whispered to Mr. Hillard, "a Beckmesser fiasco
to-night, or will it be a Walter success?"

But Mr. Hillard, besides being an author and a critic, cared little for
the too literary cleverness of Mr. Graves. He therefore heavily crushed
that gentleman's allusion to Wagner's opera. "I remember," he said, "the
singing contest between Beckmesser and Walter, and I doubt if we are to