la, Figaro quà," with all the strength of his brazen lungs; while one
or two gifted amateurs sang glees in washed-out, apologetical
accents, which were nearly lost in the din of the room.

But there was yet another singer, whose performance was attended with
rather more display. It was preluded by a good deal of whispering and
nodding of heads. Lady Essendine posed as a charitable person, always
anxious to do good, and this singer was a _protégée_ of hers--an
interesting but unfortunate foreigner in very reduced circumstances,
whom she had discovered by accident, and to whom she was most anxious
to give a helping hand.

"A sweet creature," she had said quite audibly that evening, although
the object of her remarks was at her elbow. "A most engaging person;
poor thing, when I found her she was almost destitute. Wasn't it sad?"

"Quite pretty, too," her friends had remarked, also ignoring the near
neighbourhood of the singer.

It did not seem to matter much. The stranger sat there calmly, proudly
unconscious of all that was said about her. Pretty!--the epithet was
well within the mark. Beautiful, rather--magnificently, splendidly
beautiful, with a noble presence and almost queenly air. Her small,
exquisitely-proportioned head, crowned with a coronet of deep chestnut
hair, was well poised upon a long, slender neck; she had a refined,
aristocratic face, with clear-cut features, a well-shaped, aquiline
nose, with slender nostrils; a perfect mouth, great lustrous dark
eyes, with brows and lashes rather darker than her hair. Her teeth
were perfect--perhaps she knew it, for her lower lip hung down a
little, constantly displaying their pearly whiteness, and adding