Major.

There was something perhaps in the tone in which the last remark
was made which jarred a little against the young lord's dignity.
At any rate he got up and declared his purpose of going to the
opera. He should look in, he said, and hear a song from
Mademoiselle Stuffa. Mademoiselle Stuffa was the nightingale of
the season, and Lord Silverbridge, when he had nothing else to do,
would sometimes think that he was fond of music. Soon after he was
gone Major Tifto had some whisky-and-water, lit his third cigar,
and began to feel the glory of belonging to the Beargarden. With
Lord Silverbridge, to whom it was essentially necessary that he
should make himself agreeable at all times, he was somewhat
overweighted as it were. Though he attempted an easy familiarity,
he was a little afraid of Lord Silverbridge. With Dolly Longstaff
he felt that he might be comfortable,--not, perhaps, understanding
that gentleman's character. With Lord Nidderdale he had previously
been acquainted, and had found him to be good-natured. So he
sipped his whisky, he became confidential and comfortable.

'I never thought so much about her good looks,' he said. They were
talking of the singer, the charm of whose voice had carried Lord
Silverbridge away.

'Did you ever see her off the stage?' asked Nidderdale.

'Oh dear yes.'

'She does not go about very much, I fancy,' said someone.