deep music of her mellow, bell-like voice.

"Oh, you do admit that," said Mr. Ashmead, with a chuckle; "then why jump
off the ladder so near the top? Oh, of course I know--the old story--but
you might give twenty-two hours to love, and still spare a couple to
music."

"That seems a reasonable division," said Ina, naively. "But"
(apologetically) "he was jealous."

"Jealous!--more shame for him. I'm sure no lady in public life was ever
more discreet."

"No, no; he was only jealous of the public."

"And what had the poor public done?"

"Absorbed me, he said."

"Why, he could take you to the opera, and take you home from the opera,
and, during the opera, he could make one of the public, and applaud you
as loud as the best."

"Yes, but rehearsals!--and--embracing the tenor."

"Well, but only on the stage?"

"Oh, Mr. Ashmead, where else does one embrace the tenor?"

"And was that a grievance? Why, I'd embrace fifty tenors--if I was paid