'Fenellan, remember, I had a sort of right to the wine--to the best I
could get; and this Old Veuve, more than any other, is a bridal wine!
We heard of Giulia Sanfredini's marriage to come off with the Spanish
Duke, and drank it to the toast of our little Nesta's godmother. I 've
told you. We took the girl to the Opera, when quite a little one--that
high:--and I declare to you, it was marvellous! Next morning after
breakfast, she plants herself in the middle of the room, and strikes her
attitude for song, and positively, almost with the Sanfredini's voice--
illusion of it, you know,--trills us out more than I could have believed
credible to be recollected by a child. But I've told you the story. We
called her Fredi from that day. I sent the diva, with excuses and
compliments, a nuptial present-necklace, Roman goldwork, locket-pendant,
containing sunny curl, and below a fine pearl; really pretty; telling her
our grounds for the liberty. She replied, accepting the responsible
office; touching letter--we found it so; framed in Fredi's room, under
her godmother's photograph. Fredi has another heroine now, though she
worships her old one still; she never abandons her old ones. You've
heard the story over and over!'

Mr. Fenellan nodded; he had a tenderness for the garrulity of Old Veuve,
and for the damsel. Chatter on that subject ran pleasantly with their
entertainment.

Mr. Radnor meanwhile scribbled, and despatched a strip of his Note-book,
bearing a scrawl of orders, to his office. He was now fully himself,
benevolent, combative, gay, alert for amusement or the probeing of
schemes to the quick, weighing the good and the bad in them with his
fine touch on proportion.

'City dead flat? A monotonous key; but it's about the same as fetching a